Of Marriages & Matchmaking
by Imogen74
Summary: A sequel to "A Holiday Abroad," the group returns to continue on the path which began in Italy, especially regarding Mycroft. Rated M, since I love the letter dearly. Established Sherlolly. John/Mary. And thanks to SammyKatz for inspiring much of what transpires.
1. Chapter 1

Mycroft Holmes was at his desk where he did important things. Important decisions were made. Important phone calls. Meetings. Very, very important. He was sipping his tea. He was at his computer. He was supposed to be composing an email, but he found himself distracted. This was ill-timed. The email needed to be sent before he left for the day, but he couldn't manage to concentrate long enough to complete the task. Perhaps he was getting old. He hadn't considered this. Age. It was creeping up on him. In Italy, he had felt youthful exuberance. In Italy, he had been calmly serene. A fortnight had lapsed since his return, & now he felt a dull ache. Where this ache was located he couldn't say, but if pressed, he might claim it to be spread throughout his entire person.  
Was this what aging felt like? Is this how his mum felt? Yet, in truth, he wasn't that old. What could be the cause of it? How was it to be explained?  
He sighed heavily & finished up the email. Done.  
He began to head home, but thought better of it. Perhaps he could pop in on Sherlock & Molly. Yes, he'd do just that.

Molly had moved into 221B Baker Street. It seemed the logical course of action to take. She spent so much time there, why was she paying rent?  
"Sherlock, I need my hairbrush. Have you seen it?"  
The detective was at the kitchen table peering through his microscope. Molly noted to suggest he move his kitchen lab to John's old room. This was ridiculous.  
"Molly, why on earth would you suggest that I know where your hairbrush is?"  
"Oh, I dunno. Because you notice everything."  
He smiled. "It's on top of your dresser in the bedroom where you left it last evening after I pulled you away from it to hurry you into bed."  
"That's right! Thanks, Sherlock," and she pecked his cheek.  
He smiled. As he was working, he thought about Molly. They read together, they cooked together (he even rather enjoyed the activity), they laughed, watched crap telly, talked with Mrs. Hudson, & copulated regularly. Yes. This was pleasant.  
Molly took her leave of the flat to get to work, & he leaned back in his chair. He disliked her working the night shift, but dismissed the idea of telling her as much. Molly loved her job, & when a case took him to the morgue at night, it had been pleasant to see her there.  
His mind wandered a touch...something happening more frequently, which gave him pause. He disliked it. Nevertheless, his mind took him to Mycroft & Mary's suggestion. Not much had been done in that area. He had had two cases in as many weeks since their return, he helped Molly move, & was busy enjoying domestic felicity with her. Busy, busy time. He thought perhaps he should give Mary a ring. He was ready to move forward now, work being the only thing that might impede such motion, but he had no case on at present.

He heard Mrs. Hudson answer the front door. He heard a male voice. Mycroft. How timely.


	2. Chapter 2

Mrs. Hudson had answered the door with her usual pleasant manner.  
"Oh! Hello, Mycroft. Pleasant evening, isn't it?"  
"Quite. Yes, it is. Sherlock is upstairs, I presume?"  
"Far as I know, he is. Saw Molly a few minutes ago dash out," she was looking out at the street, while allowing Mycroft passage in the hallway.  
"Well, I'll head up, then. Good evening, Mrs. Hudson."  
And he ascended the stairs.

He entered the upstairs flat & looked about. Much tidier with Molly living there. "Sherlock?"  
"Hello Mycroft," he was entering the sitting room with two cups. He handed one to his brother.  
"Ah. Thank you. And how are you this fine evening?"  
"Exceptionally well. What brings you by?" And he motioned for Mycroft to take a seat, & didn't wait for an answer.  
Sherlock took a sip. He eyed his brother. Now was the time to begin to determine his sexual preference, but Mycroft was quick. He'd suspect a trap. He was nearly as smart as the detective...in some ways, more so. Tread lightly, if he suspects, it will never work.  
He began, "Molly keeps a nice flat. It was a bit much having John here. The place almost smelled from lack of regular upkeep."  
"Well, Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson, would, on occasion, tidy up. It wasn't all that bad."  
"You're a tidy person, Mycroft. I suppose you never had occasion to consider a housekeeper."  
Mycroft thought about that while he sipped his tea. "No. I suppose I'm naturally of the tidy sort. Always thinking about a place for things. Cleanliness keeps my mind at ease."  
Sherlock nodded. "Yes. I believe you always were, no? Closer with mummy, too. She kept a clean house."  
Mycroft smiled a touch. "Yes...why this line of conversation, Sherlock? It is odd."  
"It's a natural course to take when one remarks on the state of one's flat, is it not?" No matter. He knew now that Mycroft was homosexual. He recalled the closeness he shared with their mother. How he took to domestic matters. How he had never once, in all the years that Sherlock knew him, boasted a girlfriend. And Mycroft was not one to shy away from boasting about anything.  
Now that he thought about it, he must've been hiding his sexuality all along. He had been vague in Italy when discussing Molly. Poor Mycroft. Surely he should know that he would never mind his brother's sexual orientation. The fact that he was gay made him more interesting.  
"Sherlock?"  
"Hm?" He was brought back to his flat from his reverie.  
"Are you alright?"  
"Of course. Why do you ask?"  
"You appear...preoccupied."  
Sherlock smiled, "Always. But you know that, brother."  
And they remained as such, talking for another hour before Mycroft finally took his leave.

Sherlock got out his mobile. He texted Mary:  
Have a break in case. Gay. We need to move quickly, he's anxious.  
-SH

To which Mary returned:  
Are you absolutely certain he's gay? Doesn't seem likely.  
-MM

Sherlock sighed. He would have to break in another one.


	3. Chapter 3

Molly heard voices as she entered the front door. Though they weren't loud, per se, they were elevated, & what was of particular note was that one of the voices was definitely female. It took a moment before she ascertained that the voice belonged to Mary Morstan. She ascended the stairs a bit apprehensively. Sherlock didn't sound angry, but he was certainly agitated.  
"He's my brother Mary. If I say he's gay, he's gay. I cannot understand why people insist on contradicting me," he ran his fingers through his hair. He was standing. His eyes were squinted.  
Mary stood with her arms crossed, a physical shield against Sherlock's vitriol. "I'm not saying you're wrong. I'm saying you didn't know before last night, & it would be assuming much to go on one conversation about tidiness!" She turned & saw Molly. "Molly, do you think Mycroft is gay?"  
Molly looked from one to the other, & realized fully what was going on. She sighed. She wished that they would leave poor Mycroft alone. She liked him & thought that they would only end up hurting him. "I...dunno. I never thought about it..."  
"But you have," said Sherlock as he took her coat & bag from her, motioning her to sit down after a long night at work. "You were the one that suggested I should think about sexual orientation to begin with. Coffee?"  
"No, thanks. I need to get to bed. Don't need anything keeping me awake," she smiled her words.  
"At any rate, tell Mary you think he's gay. She obviously isn't familiar with my methods or reputation." He waited. Moly gulped.  
"Ah, well, Sherlock. I mean..." she hesitated. True, she hadn't thought about it. She merely thought it might've proved a deterrent for Sherlock & Mary if his preference wasn't clear. She hadn't considered fully whom she was dealing with. She was tired. She wanted to go to bed. "I guess that, if pressed, I'd say..." she looked at the pair, eagerly awaiting her answer. She hated that she was about to disappoint one of them. "I'd say..." and she thought. She considered Mycroft Holmes. She thought about him in Italy. She had known many people that were openly gay. She dismissed that as faulty reasoning. Gay or no, everyone behaves differently. "No. I don't think he is."  
Sherlock's mouth hung agape. Mary smiled broadly.  
"Well," Mary began. "I think we need to think about this for another day or two before we proceed. Would you agree? Or Sherlock, would you care to call it?"  
Sherlock turned toward her swiftly. "We aren't calling anything. I'll be in touch. Tell John I shall text him later. Good morning, Mary." And she smilingly exited the flat.  
Sherlock looked at Molly & retreated to the kitchen. He began to boil the kettle & called to her. "Hungry then? I can make something for you if you like."  
She smiled to herself, but hardly moved. "No. Just tea, thanks. I'm really awfully tired."  
He reemerged. "Long night?" He kissed her cheek.  
"Always."  
"Indeed," he sat opposite her.  
"I'm sorry if I disappointed you, Sherlock. But I..."  
"No need. As you said, you're tired."  
"Kettle's boiled. But I think...I think I should explain," Molly did wish to explain before she retired. It would unsettle her sleep to know he was upset.  
He returned with the tea. "If you like."  
"Yes. Thank you," she sipped & began. "Well, the thing is, is I..." and then she realized it would be much more difficult explaining this than she had believed. "I mean, I haven't known Mycroft as long as you, obviously." Sherlock smiled. "Yes. And, I've only had a few conversations with him. But he just seems...so...sad. Not that someone that is gay can't be sad...but as though he's sad for another reason. As though it has nothing to do with him. He's witty to be sure. He's not miserable. You need to really pay attention to him to notice. He hides it well," she stopped.  
"Molly, I hope you're not suggesting that I...I don't pay attention, it's rather what I do."  
"No! No. But maybe, since he's your brother, you...I dunno. Take him for granted?" She took another sip.  
Sherlock sat back in his chair. He considered Molly's suggestion. "I suppose...it's not outside the realm of possibility. But I still maintain he's homosexual."  
"Well. Why don't you ask him?"  
Sherlock nearly choked on his tea. "Ask him? Sweetheart, what are you on about? The plan would never work if I asked him. He'd know instantly what I was about & resist every attempt...it would be the end of it."  
"Then I could."  
"You," he laughed the word. Then stopped. "You could? Yes, you could," he said, standing up. "Mycroft would never think you suspicious. Even if we are engaged in..." he waved his arms. "No. He would think you would never compromise your integrity. Yes. It might work," and he rubbed his hands together. "Why aren't you in bed? Molly, how do you expect us to have relations later if you don't get some rest? Really, must I remind you even of regular bodily needs? Sleep is certainly one of them. And you'll need all the rest you can manage," he smiled at her.  
She arose wearily & kissed his mouth. She left him there, his eyes gleaming, with a wide smile curling his lips, certain of vindication.


	4. Chapter 4

Molly was unsure of what she had committed herself to. She was waiting outside of Mycroft's office wringing her hands. Should she just come out & say it? Should she be sly & try to guess? She wasn't clever enough to keep up the rouse for long. She knew Sherlock didn't care if he was gay. She knew no one did. Yet, if they were attempting to find a romantic companion, it would help to know which gender to consider. It would also eliminate half of the possibilities. That, Molly decided, was not necessarily a good thing. Perhaps he's bisexual. Yes, Molly thought that might be the most advantageous of outcomes. It would be difficult to find someone for Mycroft. Losing half of the dating pool automatically was not necessarily a good thing.  
He opened the door with thinly veiled exhaustion & a smile that crossed his face. Molly liked him very much.  
"Molly. Do come in," and he stepped aside to allow her entry.  
Immediately, her resolve waned & her genuine care for the man overcame her desire to pacify Sherlock. She would ask him outright. Damn the consequences.  
"To what do I owe this pleasure? Sherlock is likely none too pleased."  
"Sherlock sent me," was her answer.  
"Indeed? That is rather...interesting. Whatever for?"  
"Well...I..." how was she to go about this? Just say it. Be done. This method has proven fruitful before. "Mycroft, are you gay?"  
He didn't blink an eye. He held her gaze with indifference. "I am not."  
Molly smiled. "Well. That's that then," and she began to leave.  
"Pardon me, Molly. You'll forgive my curiosity, but that's a rather forward, & personal question. Why did you ask it?"  
Yes. Why indeed. "Ah, well, Sherlock & I were discussing...oh, & Mary as well...& I insisted you weren't..." she went on.  
"I see. So. Mary has recruited Sherlock for matchmaking purposes. This is good fun," he began bouncing on the balls of his feet. "You know, Molly, perhaps you might tell Sherlock that I came out to you...heartfelt, sincere, perhaps even mentioned how he could never know..." he smiled.  
"You mean...lie?"  
"Well, lying is a bit...nefarious. I only mean to have a bit of fun."  
Molly played with her ponytail. "I dunno. Sherlock & I ... Our relationship is still pretty new..."  
"Of course. Then just tell him you couldn't discover either way. I do like these games. Pleasant diversion from grueling work," he smiled once more.  
"Oh. Alright then. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to have him knocked down a notch or two."  
Mycroft liked Molly very much. She was good for his brother. "Just so. Of course, I'll deny your knowledge of all that has transpired here. Lets just see what Sherlock comes up with as potential companions..."  
"Alright," and she pecked his cheek. "Good evening, Mycroft. I expect I'll be seeing you sooner rather than later," and she smiled knowingly.  
"Yes. I imagine that will be the case. Good evening, Molly Hooper," & he opened the door for her.

Ah. This should be excellent fun. Sherlock & Mary. Teaming up to discover a companion for him. He wondered idly what they would come up with & enjoyed a healthy laugh.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock was watching the man sitting opposite him with a modicum of attention. His sleeves suggested that he was a writer, they had ink stains on them, & he continued to repeatedly flex his fingers as though they were sore. His pockets were those of a newspaper journalist: a small notebook in his right hand pant pocket, pen in his shirt pocket. He wasn't a very successful journalist, as his shoes were worn & about three years old. Journalists attempting to impress would bother with new apparel. He was 40...no 41 years of age. A touch older than he, a tad younger than Mycroft. But this lad was a bore. He had been droning on for the better part of half an hour about some silly stalker, & though he had gone on for so long, he had yet to explain much in the terms of a "why." Sherlock didn't require explanation. The man had pissed someone off enough that he was having a laugh at this man's expense, & this man was nervous enough to allow it to bother him. No, unsuitable for Mycroft. He'd be done with this fellow in less than 24 hours, & it was unlikely that he'd even derive any pleasure from those hours spent.

John Watson wasn't paying attention, either. He was looking at Sherlock, wondering why he hadn't dismissed the fellow yet. He was studying him, but not listening & not interrupting. John didn't like this. Whatever was about to transpire was certainly not good.

"Well," said Sherlock, rising. "Yes. Interesting. Don't be in touch, then, Mr.?"

"Reynolds."

"Right. Reynolds. I'll let you know if we will be taking your case on."

John arose. "We will?"

"No. We won't. Actually, Reynolds, this is terribly dull. What you need is to start smoking. Or jogging. Calm your nerves. No off you go," and Sherlock physically pushed the man out of the door.

He slammed the door behind him. "Unsuitable," he muttered.

"What's that?"

"Unsuitable," and he went to the kitchen. "Coffee?"

"You're making coffee?" John's voice held a hint of surprise.

"Of course. I'm quite capable."

"Sherlock, what was that about?"

"Hm? What was what?"

"That. That with that client. What was it about?"

He emerged with the coffee, handed John a cup & sat at the computer. "Nothing."

"Nope. Something's going on. What is it?"

Sherlock sighed & looked at John. How he loved his friend. He was truly the most excellent of diversions. Well, except Molly perhaps.

"Mycroft."

"Mycroft?"

"Yes. My brother?"

"I know who Mycroft is, you git. What had that fellow to do with Mycroft?"

Sherlock looked at John knowingly.

John's mouth opened. It shut. Opened again. "No. Sherlock! No...you weren't..."

"I wasn't what?" and he turned toward the computer.

"Have you been talking with Mary? Are the two of you attempting that...thing you spoke of in Italy?"

"Just so."

"Sherlock! Be sensible! This is Mycroft. Mycroft for god sake! I mean...who the hell is going to date Mycroft Holmes? And I mean...is he gay? Do you even know?"

"Well, Molly was unable, as it were, to ascertain...but I know he is."

"Molly. Molly couldn't tell," John was fuming. "You've recruited poor Molly. Your girlfriend. Don't give me that look. Girlfriend. She's doing your leg work. Jesus."

Sherlock had gotten up to reaffirm his stature opposite the doctor. "Now you listen here, John. Molly offered. I said that my brother is homosexual. Mary doubted it, Molly went to Mycroft to see if she couldn't innocently discover his orientation, but was unable. Hardly surprising, really. And so I am moving forward with the plan knowing my brother is gay, while Mary is moving forward with the erroneous error that he is heterosexual. She will find him an unfortunate lady, while I will supply him with a strapping, intellectually invigorating, well dressed man. It's all quite simple. Why do you insist on being tiresome?"

John was fixed to the spot. "You know, the two of you deserve each other. And when Mycroft figures all of this out, god help you."

Sherlock stopped sipping his coffee. "He won't be discovering anything."

"Oh yes, he will. He's not daft, man. He'll figure you out. And what's amusing about all of this is he's got the whole of the British government in his pocket. You'll be incarcerated for some such nonsense, & I'll leave the two of you there to sort it out," John was pointing at him.

"Two of us?"

"You & Mary."

Sherlock laughed. "I hardly think you'll let Mary sit in a cell. Or me, for that matter. And Mycroft wouldn't behave in such a fashion."

Now it was John's turn to have a laugh. "Wouldn't count on it, mate." He was readying himself for departure. "And you know, I am not saying one word. Not one. Mycroft may be a wanker, but he's not stupid, & I actually rather like him. Shame you & Mary feel the need to bother him," and he left.

Sherlock stood there perplexed. Why was everyone suddenly a Mycroft fan? He was an infuriating, meddlesome, irksome man.


	6. Chapter 6

Mary was examining the pretty girl behind the counter at the cafe. Probably about 35. Personable. Witty. Extroverted. Hmm.

"Have you worked here long?" Mary smilingly inquired.

"Oh not that long, really. About 4 months or so," she was steaming the milk for Mary's cappuccino.

"And how do you like it?" Mary thought that should this lovely lady not have any aspiration to improve her situation, she may not entice Mycroft.

"I like it well enough. I'm a student. Part time. I have a son, so this is simply to tie up loose ends," she said, finishing up the drink prep.

Mary thought this had potential. "Oh? And you're a student of...?"

"Law."

Jackpot. "That's terribly interesting. How old is your son? How does your husband...forgive me...or boyfriend feel about your studies? You're working part time, part time student, full time mom. Not much left for him, I suppose?"

She laughed. "Well, if I had one, I guess it'd be difficult. And Sam is 8. He's in primary school full time, so I'm able to attend to these things," and she handed her the drink.

"Thank you...sorry. Didn't catch your name."

"Jane. My mum was fond of gothic literature. And your's?"

"Mary. Mine was not religious...just sentimental," and she shook Jane's hand. "Enjoy your day, then." And off she went.

Well, well. Mary was pleased. She had interrogated four ladies in as many days without success. Jane had the most potential of anyone thus far. It had proven much more difficult than Mary had supposed. Mycroft was an interesting person, & it would take someone of equal interest & intellect to persuade him. She was a bit unsure about Jane, but it was better than nothing.

When she arrived home that evening she found her boyfriend in a state.

"What's going on, John? You appear out of sorts."

"Well, I suppose I am."

Mary inhaled deeply. What had Sherlock done? "Well...what's wrong?"

"Mycroft."

Mary stopped. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me, dear. I know what you & Sherlock are up to. I don't like it. Leave the man alone. He's dangerous."

Mary laughed, "He's nothing of the sort. He's delightful. We are only attempting..."

"I know I know. But there's a difference - a vast one, mind - between him & Sherlock. What's more, is that Sherlock had proven interest in Molly. You & your cohort are running about London without the faintest idea what you're even looking for. And he's not stupid. What do you think he'll do when he finds out? Anthea will be here faster than..."

And Mary stopped him. "What was that? Who will be here?"

"Anthea, his PA. She's something, too."

"Anthea? Have I met her?"

"Dunno...why? You don't mean...she's awfully young, Mary."

She smiled. "How young? 30?"

"Maybe."

"Perfect."

"You know, you & Sherlock are more alike than I ever realized. Maybe I am gay," and he left the room as Mary began texting Mycroft.

"Oh, John. Come now...I'll prove you're not." She left her mobile on the coffee table & went to the bedroom to show her love just how heterosexual he was.


	7. Chapter 7

Molly was sitting with Mary at the cafe. They had been discussing her impending wedding with vigor, but the subject had stalled. Mary was nervously tapping her finger on the side of her cup. She knew that Molly disapproved of her & Sherlock meddling with Mycroft. She also knew that he would be arriving at the cafe any minute, as per his routine.

And on cue, entered Mycroft.

"Ladies. How pleasant to see you. May I join you after I obtain my latte?"

Mary smiled. "Of course! I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

He returned her smile & winked at Molly, who blushed. Mary took notice, but said nothing. He returned with his cup.

"And what are we doing in this part of town?" Mycroft sat down.

"Discussing wedding preparations."

"Indeed? Have you a date set?"

Mary looked down, & glanced at Molly. "Well, no. My teaching really only allows a summer wedding. And my salary allows even less."

Mycroft was listening intently. "No. What are to be John's monetary contributions?"

"I don't know. We haven't discussed it, really."

"I'll speak with Sherlock for you," Mycroft said matter-of-factly.

"No!" exclaimed Mary. "No. Thanks Mycroft, but it's really fine. We'll sort it out," she looked at Molly.

He smiled. "Speaking of which, how is my brother, Molly? I cannot imagine how trying it must be to be cooped up with him...constantly. And you sleep together. Eat together. Has he recruited you to launder his clothes? He is rather particular about it."

Molly laughed. "No. He sees to that. He's really alright, you know. If he weren't, I wouldn't love him," she blushed through the last bit.

Mycroft observed her warmly, & Mary took note.

"Do you launder your own clothes, Mycroft?"

"Always."

"Indeed. I don't imagine you'd share that responsibility. But surely other things would be easier if you had some help."

Molly looked at Mycroft, then looked away.

"What sort of things, Mary?" He was enjoying this profoundly.

"Oh, I dunno. Cooking, perhaps? Didn't you say, Molly, that Sherlock enjoys cooking?"

She cleared her throat. "I did, yes."

"Remind me to never accept a dinner invitation, Molly. Nothing personal, but I don't think I could bear the thought of Sherlock cooking me anything," Mycroft winced. He then laughed. "But truly, my dear, does he cook?"

Molly nodded. "He's not half bad."

"Well, I am astonished. Sherlock. A cook."

Mary jumped in. "I imagine that two cooks are better than one. Mycroft, you require a cooking mate."

He laughed aloud. "Mary, what are you on about? A cooking mate?"

Molly rolled her eyes. "Really Mary..."

"What? It's an excellent idea. Perhaps...don't you work with a young lady? If she lives alone, the two of you might pair up."

There was a noticeable change in the air about the table. Mycroft's color deepened, & his face fell.

"Whom do you mean?"

"Your PA. Anthea, is it?"

Molly noticed the change. So did Mary, but she misinterpreted it. Mycroft was stoic. "Yes. Her name is Anthea. But I prefer to keep work at work, Mary." He was suddenly quite different. "I should be off. Good afternoon, ladies," and he left.

Mary clapped her hands. "Well. He obviously likes her!"

"Mary...I don't think..."

"Wait until Sherlock hears..."

"Mary. I think you misinterpreted what just happened. I don't think Mycroft is interested..."

But Molly's strictures fell on deaf ears. Mary sensed victory. There is nothing like a matchmaker whose web is nearly complete & domestic bliss can almost be smelled...


	8. Chapter 8

Mycroft left work that afternoon feeling worse for wear. His shoulders slumped, his face mimicked the action. He knew he was being silly, but any mention of her made him reflective. It was bad enough he saw her nearly every day. He knew Mary knew nothing of it. No one did. But yet...he couldn't help feeling a bit angry towards her. Her fault his day had been crap. And into his flat he slid, thinking of the brandy he was about to consume.

"I feel really bad for him, Sherlock. He's so...I dunno. Can't explain it," Molly was sincere. She felt very bad for Mycroft.

"He's fine. I really wish you would've seen him in Italy. Spoken with him. The man has much going on. Don't allow your ill-founded regard cloud your sensibilities."

Molly smiled & got up from her station to obtain some wine. She longed to have the ability to tell Sherlock he was wrong without slipping up & revealing that Mycroft had told her his orientation. Perhaps he was as sad as Molly suspected.

She brought a glass in for Sherlock. "You are funny. But I love you anyway. And I believe you're wrong about Mycroft."

He pulled her into his lap after placing the glasses next to him. "I'm never wrong, Molly. Please try to remember that." He kissed her. She pulled away slightly.

"But you are this time," and she took his hands in hers, standing him up & leading him into the bedroom.

Mary Morstan was positively radiant. Oh, how she loved being right. She relished it. She sought it out. She was, admittedly, a very kind sort, but very bright & longed to prove it. She had spent a good deal of her life proving herself worthy. She had two older brothers that were good at everything. Athletic. Handsome. Funny. Popular. While Mary was very attractive & had her share of wit, it was her mind that most recommended her. She could outsmart her brothers any day of the week, & was quite obnoxious about it. A teacher by both trade & personality, she schooled anyone she felt needed her guidance. Never mean-spirited, but, well, bossy. She knew Sherlock Holmes was brilliant. She knew Mycroft Holmes was equally so. She fancied herself in competition with them, for though they certainly were more intelligent in some matters, Mary had abilities they lacked.

Let it be known that she loved John Watson dearly. She knew quite well that he had fallen in love with her because she reminded him of his friend; & Mary, as intuitive as ever, reasoned that since she & Sherlock were so similar, it fell to reason that she would love John as much as Sherlock did.

And so, she was on her way to Baker Street to boast her discovery to the younger Holmes. Anthea, whom Mycroft secretly loved. Anthea, whom he must spend day in & day out pining for. Anthea, Mary rejoiced, would prove her right.

"Hello Mrs. Hudson! How are you this morning?"

"Well Mary, hip's acting up. You know, always a bother. But then, it's to be expected..."

"Wonderful! I'm fantastic. Is Sherlock upstairs?"

Mrs. Hudson looked at her quizzically. "Yes, but don't you mean Molly?"

"No no! Sherlock. See you in a bit!"

And up she went to gloat.

Sherlock had heard much of what transpired downstairs, & stood to greet Mary.

"Well Mary. Think you've sorted it all out, do you?"

She smiled broadly. "Yes, yes as a matter of fact, I have."

"And what are your fallacious conclusions?"

"Mycroft is in love with Anthea."

Sherlock stood motionless for what must've been a full minute. Then he laughed. He laughed rather loudly, & continued for another full minute. Mary was not amused. "Are you through?"

"Oh! Hang on..." he laughed a touch longer, holding his stomach. "Alright. Yes. Thank you, Mary. That was, without a doubt, the best laugh I've had in ages."

She walked into the kitchen to pour herself some coffee. "You know, I see now why John always pretends you're the dummy when he's practicing his boxing techniques."

Sherlock's face fell a touch as he pondered this.

"Really? Huh. Well, at any rate, what made you think your comical thesis was correct?"

Mary sat down, Sherlock followed suit. "I mentioned her...suggested that they spend leisure time together & he became withdrawn & sullen. He took his leave immediately thereafter."

Sherlock's hands were folded on his knee as he listened raptly. "That's all? You surmised that depth of feeling because he was sullen & excused himself? Mary, he likely had indigestion. How could you possibly glean what you did with that?"

"I was able to read you with a look you gave Molly & a few remarks you made! Don't underestimate me, Sherlock! Mark my words. There is something going on between Mycroft & Anthea. And we will all find out, & you'll be wrong..." Mary stormed out.

Yes...finding out. Sherlock sighed. Mary was a force. He now saw what Molly meant about feeling bad for Mycroft. He only wished someone had extended him the same courtesy.


	9. Chapter 9

Mycroft had just returned from a meeting with various dignitaries from all over Europe. He was checking his email & studying the latest one sent when Anthea entered.

"Here are the files you requested. Will there be anything further?"

"No. That'll be all. Good evening, Anthea," and he smiled.

"Good evening, sir." She left.

Mycroft looked at the files placed in front of him. He put his hands in his pockets, & rocked back & forth on the balls of his feet. He went to the window to look out into the London night, illuminated with street lights & various vehicles.

There she was, still fresh in his mind's eye. Lovely, brilliant, everything charming. He always reflected on one memory in particular. He was so young.

They had decided to venture away for the day, she didn't really care for London. Not the way he did, anyway. They took the train out for about an hour, got off, & wandered off in no particular direction. They happened upon a small pond, & she stripped bare. Mycroft had seen the naked female form before, but they all seemed to pale in comparison to her loveliness. She ran to edge, beckoning him to join her. He winced a touch, for even then his behavior was dictated by decorum; yet she was so enticing that he couldn't resist. He too stripped & joined her in the pond. There, in broad daylight, they made love.

He pulled himself out of his reverie & sighed. So long ago. So much time in between then & now. She wouldn't have liked to have seen him this way, wholly committed to work, never allowing time to relax, rejoice in the wonder of life. He rubbed his face a bit. He retreated from his vantage point & began to gather his things to head home.

Mary was in a state. She fancied that Sherlock was not taking her seriously.

"He is so smug, John. I wish you were there to see it."

John rolled his eyes & sighed, "Honestly, dear. I'm rather glad I wasn't. Can't you just accept the fact that you & Sherlock are very similar & should just give up trying to persuade him? It'll never work."

It was Mary's turn to sigh, "No. But YOU might...he does love you, John. Perhaps you might convince him that I'm right." Her eyes gleamed.

"No. Nope. I'm not involved. I'm not doing it. I'll stand by with Molly & watch the two of you go at it. And when you've destroyed each other, I'll watch Mycroft have a laugh." He got a drink out for himself. Whiskey.

"You don't drink Whiskey. What's going on?"

He looked at her as he downed the golden liquid, "I can't stand it. You've driven me to it."

Mary felt ashamed as she watched John leave the flat. Perhaps she'd taken it a bit too far. Yes. She had. Time to back off. Not calling anything, but she fancied herself with an air of desperation that was most unattractive & un-Mary. She'd allow him that evening to blow off some steam & talk with him in the morning about it. She readied herself for bed.

Molly loved to listen to Sherlock play the violin. She was positioned on the sofa with her drink & had her legs tucked under her. She was transfixed under the spell of Vivaldi in the flat. When he finished, he put down the instrument, & went over to her.

"And what did you think? I don't normally play Vivaldi, but I thought you might enjoy it."

Molly smiled deeply & kissed his cheek. "It was mesmerizing. You are incredible."

He returned her smile & his fingers entwined in hers. She made him very happy. It sometimes felt as though he were living a stolen time. It was all so surreal & dream like. He had so set himself against any normal human feeling that to be experiencing it with such ferocity was very nearly foreign. He wanted to make her happy. He wanted to keep her safe. He wanted, above all else, to make her stay with him. In truth, since he was so woefully inexperienced, he was concerned that he might muck things up & she'd leave. That was not something he wished to think about, but he did, & often.

There was a loud banging sounding from downstairs.

"John is here & he's upset about Mary," Sherlock said without breaking his gaze upon Molly.

"What? What about Mary?" Molly looked away & heard the footsteps of John Watson up the stairs.

"I've had enough!" He was yelling & entering the flat. "You two! You are driving me to drink! I'm done. I want this to stop. Stop it now. I mean it, Sherlock."

"Really, John. You drink quite often. Have a seat," with an air of coyness he motioned for John to sit.

"Nope. Don't want to sit. I want you & Mary to stop," he turned to Molly. "Dunno how you can stand it. Isn't it driving you mad?"

Molly cleared her throat. "Well, I mean, it hasn't been a problem, really. I have told Sherlock how I feel about Mycroft & I mean, he is his brother..."

"Right. I'm alone in this, then."

"No! You're not! I don't like it either, John. But I mean, maybe they just need to learn for themselves..."

"And drive me mad in the interim?"

Sherlock was highly amused. Mary was desperate. All of this would be over in due course, & he would be right. "John. Please sit. I'll boil a kettle, Mrs. Hudson will fetch us up some biscuits...everything will be seen right," and he left to ask his landlady to bring up some refreshment.

Molly looked at the weary doctor. He appeared beaten, sullen, exhausted. "Funny," she began, "How everything can be set right with some tea & a few biscuits." And she went to see to the kettle.


	10. Chapter 10

The problem was great. How to ascertain Mycroft's sexual orientation without him discovering what they were about? Mary had put down her armor. Sherlock had abandoned his sarcasm (at least he had curbed it to her satisfaction). It was delightfully challenging. It was painful for Molly & John. Mary & Molly maintained that he was heterosexual, Sherlock insisting otherwise, & John kept clear of the matter.

The issue was always along the periphery of conversation, often hinted at, seldom openly discussed. What was bothersome was that Mycroft wasn't around nearly as much as the foursome should have liked, or indeed, believed after Italy. It bothered Molly, for her heart still told her he was a sweet soul; kindred in many ways, & sad, she was certain of that much. She decided, after some internal debate, that she would visit him at his flat. She had never been there, & after all, why not? She was in love with his brother (she secretly hoped that Sherlock would declare her feelings reciprocated soon, though he gave no indication that he would do so).

And so it was, nearly a month after the incident with Mary at the cafe, that Molly decided to visit Mycroft Holmes. It was her day off, & she called his office to see if he was about. No, he was home, working there, as per his habit on Fridays. Sherlock & John were on a case, off about London running after some murderer. Mary was also working. She ran her brush through her hair, on with some lip gloss, & headed out.

About three years had passed since the pond. He had accepted the government position he had longed for since university, & he had taken up a flat near it. She wasn't around as much, & though they had never declared themselves, he believed he loved her as much as a person possibly could. It was a grey day, hardly surprising for London in the spring. He had asked her to lunch, but she had plans. She would stop by afterwards. She entered his flat. She appeared very tired, her hair sopping wet from the rain. Ill-prepared as always, he found it delightfully charming, albeit a bit irksome as well. She was nervous about something. She wrung her hands. Avoided eye contact. He knew something was wrong...

He hadn't meant to scold her. Pregnancy was hardly a matter for scorn. She was a grown woman. He was hurt, he had believed her to have been as monogamous as he, though they had never committed to each other. But Mycroft had sensed something else in her manner. He knew her well enough to know when she was hiding something. Something quite serious...something, he knew, that she wasn't telling anyone.

When he heard his bell ring, he almost fancied it was her, that he was reliving that moment again. He answered, & was shocked to see a sopping wet Molly Hooper standing in his doorway.

"The sun was out when I left, I swear," she said.

"Surely your tenure in London has taught you to always carry an umbrella," he smiled & let her in.

"Slow learner." She accepted the towel being handed to her.

"Hardly, Molly. But a bit too trusting, I'd venture. Explains your attachment to Sherlock."

She smiled. "How are you, Mycroft?"

He went into the kitchen. "Very well. How are things at Baker Street?" He was preparing some tea.

Molly looked around. His flat was very old fashioned. Quite large. Plenty of wood, decorated tastefully, & very neat. "Good. Things are very good. Thanks, Mycroft," she said as he handed her a cup.

"Have a seat...oh," he noticed that she was soaked through. "Well, I have a drier. Why don't you put on one of my robes? I'll dry your clothes for you."

Molly hesitated, but only for a moment. "Thanks, yes."

She emerged in a lovely blue silk robe. "You have excellent taste, Mycroft."

"Thank you, you're very kind," he said smilingly. "What brings you here?"

"Well, we haven't seen much of you. I was hoping that Mary hadn't scared you off..."

"Don't be silly. Is that what you think? No no. No...I've been preoccupied..." and his voice trailed.

"Mycroft?"

"Yes?"

"Is everything Ok?" She looked concerned.

"Of course," he didn't sound very convincing. "To prove myself, why don't you & my brother join me for dinner tomorrow evening? I'll cook."

"You cook?"

"Exceptionally well," he smiled broadly. "Have you any preferences?"

"No...you know, you should invite John & Mary. I can help prepare if its too much. You need to end this game they're in. It's killing John," she finished.

"Is it really? Poor thing. He is sensitive," he reflected a moment. "Alright. If you think it's necessary. I trust you completely my dear."

Molly laughed. "I do love you, Mycroft! You & your brother both."

"Speaking of which...has he declared he reciprocates yet?"

Molly blushed. "No. No, he hasn't. Perhaps he doesn't..."

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course he does. I'll help him sort it. He is quite a lot of work, I don't know how you do it."

"I try not to think about it. I try to live in the moment when I'm with him...sometimes I think he's just biding his time to leave..."

Mycroft gasped. He got up & went over to her. "Molly Hooper. You are the very best thing in my brother's life. Never forget that indisputable fact. He loves you. He needs you," he took her hands in his & guided her to her feet. "I need him to need you. It means much that he has you..." and he kissed her forehead.

She walked home having refused the umbrella Mycroft had offered her. She had a bit of fanciful tendencies about her...much more so now that she was so utterly in love with Sherlock. She loved London after it rained. She loved that her clothes were warm. She was looking forward to tomorrow, when Mycroft would set them all right. Mycroft. How she loved him. How wonderful it would be to be able to call him her brother, too...


	11. Chapter 11

When Molly told Sherlock about going to Mycroft's flat for dinner, he panicked.

"I need to text Charles straight away! This is an excellent opportunity for them to meet."

"Pardon? Who's Charles?" Molly hadn't heard Sherlock mention him before.

He was vigorously texting someone. "Charles. The chap I found for Mycroft."

Molly rolled her eyes. "Sherlock, I don't think..."

"Blast! He's busy...perhaps if you called him, you might persuade him to cancel his plans..."

Molly pushed the mobile out if her face after Sherlock had began suggesting such a ridiculous notion. "No. No, I'm doing no such thing. Sherlock, Mycroft invited us, not some git you found on the street."

His face fell. "I am shocked, Molly. Charles is a college professor. He is well established, well dressed, very intelligent. In fact, if we weren't together & I were homosexual, I'd certainly consider him. He's perfect for Mycroft."

Molly laughed, & went into the kitchen. She had a long day ahead of her at the morgue, & only wished for it to be over. "You should call your brother. Tell him about Charles. Perhaps he'd be interested in another dinner guest, but it's rude to just show up with another person. Oh...& let him know what time I'm through in case he needs help preparing."

Sherlock went to his computer & turned it on. "Really, Molly. It rather defeats the purpose if I off & tell him about Charles."

"What purpose is that, then?" She entered the sitting room.

"To one-up Mary, of course."

Molly wrapped her arms around his neck as he sat at the computer. She kissed his ear & whispered, "It's a good thing I love you. You're very nearly intolerable."

He smiled. "I am lucky. There are precious few that I could stand for over an hour, but you, you are certainly one of them..." he pulled her around the chair & into his lap. "Tell me again how much you love me..." He was kissing her neck.

Molly let out a soft moan. "No...I need to be going. And you're selfish. I need to tell you, but you won't tell me."

"Tell you what?" He ceased his ministrations.

"You know...that you...that thing. For me."

"You mean that I love you?"

"Yes," she blushed.

"Well. I..." He pushed her off. He stood up. "Yes. Well. As you say..."

"Never mind Sherlock. I need to get going. I'll see you tonight," she pecked his cheek.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. Dammit. No good. No good at these things. Did he love her? He hardly knew...

He was busy cleaning up the mess created from making his dinner for five. He was stirring the soup, cleaning, checking the salmon. He loved to cook.

He was looking forward to dinner. In less than an hour, they'd be here, & he would set them right. It was so lucky for Sherlock & Mary to have found such tolerant partners. They were rather impossible.


	12. Chapter 12

The food was lovely, the wine, superb. Everything was just so, very Mycroft. Dinner conversation was on the touchy side, as everyone was on edge, waiting for something to be said that oughtn't, or a look that meant more than simply a gaze. None of this happened, & Mycroft seemed to be enjoying the atmosphere immensely, especially when Sherlock had attempted to recommend his new "friend" Charles to him as a possible adviser. Molly was in shreds, trying desperately to hold herself together while still allowing Mycroft his laugh. She just wanted him to tell Mary & Sherlock off & be done.

They retired to the sitting room. Mycroft lit a fire. He turned to his company with a look of disdain mixed with pleasure.

"It has come to my attention that two of you are engaged in a game of sorts," he paused to glance over each of them. "Very amusing. Yes. Well, I believe that you're killing your better halves, & I won't allow that. I rather like them both, so you shall cease any further inquiry or attempts to meddle into my private life. You see...that's why it's called 'private.' As opposed to 'public.' Nice how these things work."

Mary was affronted. "But...you had no issue doing the same to your brother! And who blabbed?"

Mycroft's hands were in his pockets. "My dear Mary. Sherlock had proven himself interested...er...a touch more than interested, I dare say...in Miss Hooper. I am interested in nobody. You see the difference."

Mary was not to be silenced. "But you are interested in someone!"

"Mary...I think you ought to stop there," Molly was nervous.

Sherlock was amused. "No, Molly. Let us hear whom she has to recommend."

Molly was absolutely beside herself. She knew what was about to happen, & she began to panic. "No! No...Mary, please..." She glanced at Mycroft, trying to ascertain his reaction. "Mycroft?"

He was stoic. He was looking at Mary without really seeing her, & he appeared pale. "I assume you are referring to Anthea."

"Just so," replied the matchmaker.

Sherlock was confused. John, who had said nothing, finally spoke, "Listen, Mycroft. Your business is your business. You don't need to explain anything...not one damn thing, to us. Never thought I'd hear myself say it, but I really care about you mate, & it doesn't matter to me whether you're gay, straight, bi, interested in anyone, not interested. Don't care. I said the same to Sherlock ages ago, & it's all fine. Mary. I think we should go."

Mycroft was smiling. "Not at all, John. Sit. I'm moved by your speech, & I feel the need now, in warm company, to explain myself..." He lit a cigarette & noted the look on his brother's face, but refrained from offering him one. He smiled once more...& began.


	13. Chapter 13

"I suppose I should begin by declaring myself heterosexual."

Mary had a look of absolute triumph on her face. Sherlock was positively flabbergasted. Molly nudged him in order to silence him, John did the same to Mary.

"Yes. Well, there's that," he shuffled his feet a touch, & decided to sit down. Having never really spoken aloud about these matters, he was concerned he might become overwhelmed.

"I was very young when we met," he began. "Not yet eighteen. She was a touch older than I, I believe three years older. At any rate, we met the summer before I went to university. She worked in the library, which I frequented often. I was an avid reader then...I can't really say what's happened to quell my desire for it..." He reflected a moment. "Yes. She was lovely, & I was struck by her almost immediately. Not a great beauty by average standards, but she had something about her...ethereal...& I began, rather slowly & clumsily, to talk to her. She awoke in me my confidence that had laid so dormant. She was free...as free as any person I'd ever met. Free in the sense that, no opinion hindered her. No person held her captive, whether by their views or their strictures. Her mind was her own, & she lived as though she had her own world, wherein precious few may enter. I became one of those few." The company was dumbstruck, but Mycroft hardly took notice. He was unburdening himself, & he wasn't ready to stop. "A piece of this she gave to me, & I carry it with me, always. We continued our affair throughout the summer & into the autumn. By the time winter came, I saw less of her. And as the school year rolled on, even less. I didn't pay that much mind to it, I was so very absorbed in my studies."

He paused at this, & poured out some brandy for himself, gesturing towards the company suggesting an offer of some drink. No one moved.

"About three years had passed since we had met & began our affair. I thought that perhaps she had received a promotion, as I saw her so infrequently. I was wrong. My first lesson in human behavior & desire." His voice changed as he uttered those words. And he began again, with a hint of remorse coupled with disdain, "She came to me one afternoon. She was a shadow of her former self. Broken. Beaten. Pregnant. And very ill, as I'd later discover. I scolded her & she left. It took me a few months to find her once more. She was in hospital. The baby was fine, though not born as of yet. I never left her side. Not once. I missed my studies, & had to retake the term as a result. My family began to wonder at me..." He looked at Sherlock. "Yes. And when her baby was born, she asked me what she should name her. I really couldn't say...but she insisted that I do it. What was I to do? It was a request I could hardly deny a dying woman. Anthea, I had told her. 'Take care of her,' she said. She passed about three weeks after her child was born. Thankfully, the child had not contracted her illness. I never told her...never fully uttered the words. She knew, I'm certain, but those words, having never materialized in the outside world, bore a hole in my very soul, attempting their escape. It's not a fate I'd wish on anyone."

Molly was crying. Mary, too. "Who was the father?" Mary asked.

Mycroft had forgotten that they were present. "Oh. Some university professor. She always wished to impress those she fancied smarter than herself. I had him sacked two years into my position at Downing Street."

"What did she die of?" asked Sherlock.

"I rather thought it obvious. AIDS. It's a miracle that Anthea doesn't have it."

They sat silently a moment longer. Molly had only one question, but was hesitant to ask. "Mycroft?"

He looked at her, smiling warmly.

"What was her name?"

His face fell a touch. He never uttered it, not even in his mind. But for Molly, he would...he would say it aloud for the first time in over 30 years.

"Elowen."


	14. Chapter 14

None of what transpired was lost on Sherlock. He understood fully now everything that occurred in Italy. He understood Molly's insistence that Mycroft was sad. He knew why, & he understood what he needed to do. Aside from trying to make Mycroft's life a touch more happy, he needed to ensure that he would never find himself in that situation. He also understood that finding a companion for his brother would never work. Though he felt certain that it would help him, he was so injured that whomever was that person would need to be his choice alone. Poor Mycroft. His life was as sad as Molly had surmised. Perhaps even more so.

Molly had barely spoken on the way back to Baker Street. She was reflective, pensive. She loved Mycroft, she loved Sherlock. She needed to tell him just how much.

They entered the flat.

"Sherlock?"

"Hm?"

"I...love you. And you don't need to say anything. I've loved you for so long, I hardly know...I thought it began in Italy, but I see it happened long ago. I just...I was too silly about it. I thought you'd never care for me, so I buried it. Deep. So deep, it was nearly nonexistent. I was Mycroft. I was going through life with those words struggling to free themselves. Longing to be heard. And I'm just so happy that I can say them. Give them life, & that you are here to hear them. It wasn't simply schoolgirl silliness...it was love. I see that now..." a solitary tear fell down her face.

Sherlock was very still. Now was the moment, stupid git, a voice sounding very much like John Watson was saying in his mind. Do you love her?

"Molly," he began. He was standing a few feet from her. "I...believe that I'm in love with you...& I'm sorry...I can't...I didn't...I'm sorry that I'm so bad at these things." He ran his hand through his hair. "I am. Quite bad. It's rather singular. I cannot account for it...my feelings in this regard. But I..." he moved toward her, "I would be...honored if you..." Molly gasped. Was he...? "If you would...consider being my wife."

Holy shit. "What?"

Sherlock didn't move. "Marry me."

"You want to...get married?"

"Indeed, yes."

"I...would...love...to..."

Fixed to her spot, he went over to her. He wrapped his arms around her waist. He bent his head down toward her face...& Molly Hooper's head spun.


	15. Chapter 15

Mary was ashamed of herself. She had never meant to cause the pain she obviously had for Mycroft. Indeed, it had been her design to do just the opposite. She liked him, & she only wished for him to be happy. Well, she had failed miserably. She had no idea he was so broken. Molly had seen that. Molly was quite intuitive, smart. Mary...well, perhaps not as much as she once fancied. She had been humbled. She desperately wished there was some way for her to make it up, but she believed that the best thing she could do was stay out of everyone's way. She would begin wedding preparations & work. Yes. Her wedding. To John. She walked into their sitting room where he was reading a volume & sipping a beer. How much she loved this man. Sweet, forthright, good-natured, good-hearted, the very best of men.

"Are you very angry with me?" She was approaching him.

He looked up at her. "No. Not very. But poor Mycroft. How terrible for him."

"He likes you very much. And Molly...I believe he unburdened himself for the two of you."

"He likes you, Mary."

"Yes...but Molly is likely very angry. She had warned me...but I never listened. I feel so stupid."

"Imagine how Sherlock feels. Sherlock, of all people. He mucked things up pretty awful. He thought his own brother was gay when he was straight. At least you got that part right. Poor Sherlock. I hope he sets things right with Mycroft. And Molly. He'd better not let that go. He needs her."

Mary smiled. She kissed John. "I love you, John Watson. I'm so very glad I have you."

He had just finished cleaning up his dinner. He went over to his piano, ran his fingers over the keys. Dusty. He went to his violin & picked it up. It required tuning. So he tended to his instruments, there in his flat. He had let them go.

Mycroft sighed heavily as he finished cleaning. It had been strange recounting the story that always held him captive these years. It made it seem so real...he often believed that he had imagined all of it, but then he'd see Anthea, & realize the truth of it. Often he wished none of it had happened. Often he hated her for ever entering his life. But more than not, he was grateful for ever having experienced the tenderness of having loved someone so utterly.

He began playing his piano. Beethoven. His fingers were not as nimble as they once were, but his musical prowess was almost as impressive as Sherlock's. He smiled at the thought of his brother. He loved him so; but he was, admittedly, impossible. He thought of how happy he was with Molly. He thought about John & his happiness with Mary. And he felt his isolation acutely. A tear fell from his eye, & at first he hated himself for allowing that weakness. But when they found their life, he was powerless to stop them. On they fell, & he ceased his play. The tears fell in earnest, on & on, until he was quite exhausted. He hadn't wept since she died. He felt dreadful. He wasn't certain why he had cried, whether because he was alone, because he had lost her & had no means of getting her back, whether it was because he had the torture of her daughter as a constant reminder, or simply because he was jealous of everyone else & their love. Perhaps it was all of it.

He would need to move away from all of it. He had much to be thankful for. He would be thankful for those things, & delight in his friends's happiness. Friends. How odd. That was something he surely never really had.

And with that thought, he retired.


	16. Chapter 16

And so, with unbridled energy, Mary took to wedding planning. She avoided her friends, John always visiting alone, & she worked. Her shame ran deep, & there was little that could quell her mood. She never chided him for working with Sherlock, as was her custom, she stopped calling Molly, & never did it even enter her mind to text the Holmes boys. John was sorry she had taken things to such a voracious extreme. He knew how she cared for all of them. He also knew that Molly wasn't angry with her, that Sherlock was also rather mortified at his own error, & Mycroft hadn't been seen or heard from in the fortnight since the dinner. He & Mary were shutting themselves off, & John wished they'd stop.

"Sherlock," John began after the potential client had been dismissed so unceremoniously, "why not have Mycroft over? Mary & I could help. You know, a small, informal thing. Much less than..." He stopped. He & Sherlock had not mentioned the dinner party. Not spoken of anything of a personal nature in the past 14 days.

"Less than what, John?"

"You know...what Mycroft had prepared."

Sherlock considered this. He & Molly hadn't told anyone about their engagement. This might be an advantageous opportunity to break the news.

"It's good to have you around, John. You often have the most excellent of ideas."

"I do?"

"Yes. Very good idea. I'll tell Molly."

John smiled, he was pleased. "Good. Right then. You'll let Mycroft know?"

"Of course," he was texting his brother.

"Excellent," John said, rocking on the balls of his feet. "Mary, you know, has been planning the wedding something fierce."

"Tell me John, how does one fiercely plan a wedding?"

"Oh, you know, phone calls, emails, that sort of thing."

"Ah," he smiled. "Not much ferocity in that. But really, is it a great bother? Shouldn't it be easier to elope?"

John reflected. "I suppose. Mary seems to be enjoying it, though. It's worth it to see her so pleased."

"Is she pleased?"

"It certainly seems so."

Sherlock stood up. "I like Mary, John. But I believe she's taking the entire dinner thing a bit far. We were both in error. I'm certainly over it. She should be, too."

"Have you seen your brother?"

"I have not."

"Then I'd hardly say you're over it, mate. It was something, that story. It's like...I dunno...like I never knew him until then."

"No...I know what you mean."

"He never indicated anything to you? Never? Not once?"

"Never. He's more closed off than I am. He'd never seek occasion to confide. Though I was surprised at his story, I wasn't shocked. At least, I wasn't shocked that I didn't know about it." He saw that his brother had returned his text with the affirmative, that he'd love to come for dinner, as long as he can be assured that Sherlock wasn't cooking. Sherlock smiled. "Tomorrow evening, John. Tell Mary to bring some biscuits. Some wine. Molly & I shall handle the rest."

"Very good," John was leaving. "Text me the time you expect us."

"So we're...telling everyone tomorrow?" Molly had wanted to let everyone know, but she had rather hoped to do it individually, not in a group. She preferred the intimacy of a one on one with the people she cared for.

"That's right. Why not? Perfect timing. Give everyone the opportunity to think about something other than how sad Mycroft is."

"Sherlock! That's terribly unfeeling," Molly had thought of little else.

"Of course. But truly, everyone is moping about. It's tiresome. Mycroft was fine until Mary & I spoiled it with her silly ideas. Mycroft adores you. He will be thrilled to learn of our engagement."

Molly smiled & relented. How could she deny this man anything?


	17. Chapter 17

He was the last to arrive. Mrs. Hudson was prattling away to Mary & Molly, & hadn't noticed his arrival. As soon as Molly saw him, she got up & embraced him. Mycroft was moved, a tad unsure how to respond, but he had seen enough of this sort of thing to know he should return the movement. He wrapped his arms around her & bent his face down into her hair. After a moment, she pulled away, tears in her eyes. "It's so very good to see you."

"The pleasure is truly mine, Molly dear. Has only a fortnight lapsed since I last saw those smiling eyes? It seems an eternity."

She laughed. "You are precious, Mycroft. I'm so happy that...that I know you...that you're in my life," she had almost slipped & said he would be her future brother in law, but stopped just short.

She stepped aside to allow him access to everyone else. Mary was the only one that didn't move. She had dreaded this moment. Her embarrassment complete with how gracefully Mycroft was handling himself. He noted her mood, & elected to approach her.

"Good evening, Mary."

"Hello Mycroft. How are you?" She stood up.

"Wonderfully well, thank you. How are the wedding plans coming along?" And he set her mind at ease as well. Mary was relieved. She did like him, & she loathed herself for ever causing him pain. The evening was progressing much better than she had anticipated.

Dinner was through, & Mrs. Hudson was pouring out the brandy Mycroft had brought.

"I've had my share in my life, Mycroft Holmes, but never this brand. I suppose you are more wealthy than you'd ever admit," she said with an air of surprise.

"Mrs. Hudson, you forget, we are British. We never divulge such information as our income. It matters but little, & if I can provide my excellent company with a trifle of brandy that soothes the soul instead of stirring it, then I'm so much the happier."

"What are you on about, dear? Of course I know I'm British! Mycroft, what do you mean by it? Have a biscuit," Mrs. Hudson was handing him the plate, which he graciously accepted.

Sherlock tapped his glass with his spoon. Everyone froze. No such occurrence ever happened at 221B. An announcement?

"Excuse me, er...friends?" Yes. Friends was an appropriate, albeit very strange on the tongue, term. "I have an announcement. A short while ago, Molly agreed to make me the happiest of men..."

He couldn't finish. Mary stood up, gasping & clapping & laughing. "Oh! Oh! Molly!" She seized her friend, & pulled her up to standing. "Oh! I knew how it would end! It's all so lovely! Have you a ring? No," she noticed no such jewel. "Well...no matter. John can help Sherlock with that...Oh! Sherlock! I'm so happy!" And she approached him.

"Mary, if you so much as shake my hand I'll have you dizzy & on the floor before you know what hit you," he hadn't even looked at her.

"Right," she said sheepishly.

"I believe that's what happens to Molly every night," John quipped. "Right mate?"

Sherlock glared at John, "Only when she's very lucky."

"Sherlock! Please!" Molly was blushing deeply.

"Well, Sherlock. Congratulations. This is excellent news," Mycroft was smiling at his brother.

"Thank you, brother. I thought you might be pleased."

"How couldn't I be? I only hope that the drug you administered to Molly doesn't wear off before the vow exchange. She might come to her senses..." He loved teasing him.

"Speaking of which...will you have a wedding?" Mary was already churning her machinations.

"Nope. Mary, this isn't our business. Let them figure it," John was having none of it.

"Right, of course," Mary smiled.

John stood up. "Well. Congratulations, mate. Molly, good luck. Mrs. Hudson? Mary & I will walk you down."

He shook Sherlock's hand. "Thank you, John."

That left Mycroft alone with Molly & Sherlock. Time to have a chat. Yes, long overdue, actually.


	18. Chapter 18

The three were smiling. There was a pause.

"Molly dear, would you object to doing me a very great favor?"

She looked at Mycroft quizzically. "No. Not at all."

"Excellent." He sat down & retrieved a small notepad from his jacket pocket & a pen. He began scribbling something on the paper. "It would be almost as lovely as you if you'd obtain these things for me. Just as I've indicated. And whatever your pleasure, please purchase."

She took the paper. "Mycroft, this isn't necessary..."

"Of course it is. And whatever you like, mind," he took from his pocket a rather large money roll. He began counting out the pounds. "You know, take the lot. I'll not be able to rest if I thought for one moment I hadn't given you enough to purchase what you please."

"But Mycroft! There's a few thousand! I don't think..."

"Take it, dear. Now, off you go," he smiled at her. "Do you ever wear your hair down?"

"Uh...no...I wear it rather long. Gets in the way..." She blushed.

"You should. You have a lovely face, & your hair would compliment it nicely with the right style."

Sherlock was getting irritated, "Mycroft. Are you flirting with my fiancée?"

"Hardly, brother. Merely showing you how it's done," he winked at Molly. She blushed very deeply & left the flat.

"So Mycroft, obviously you have some design in sending Molly out. What was your excuse?"

"Oh! Champagne & cigars of course. And some cigarettes for her."

Sherlock laughed, "Molly doesn't smoke."

"Doesn't she? Well, she did in Italy."

"No she didn't...did she?" Sherlock's face betrayed a pout.

"She certainly nicked one of mine when you pissed her off after your double date with John & Mary. I expect she only smokes under certain circumstances. You know, extreme irritation...perhaps extreme bliss?" He looked knowingly at his brother. "But then, since you didn't know, perhaps her bliss hasn't been that extreme." He smirked.

"Mycroft. Do shut up."

He laughed. "In all seriousness Sherlock, I am rather shocked at your engagement. Pleased, to be sure, but confused. What drove you to it?"

Sherlock sat down. "I'd hardly say I was driven to it."

"When did you ask her?"

"After your dinner party."

"Just so."

"Just so...what?"

Mycroft sighed deeply. "Must I illustrate everything for you? Are you slipping that much?" He looked at Sherlock, but received no indication that he knew what he was about. "Look, brother, you heard my story & felt a compulsion to act. To avoid my fate. Can't say I blame you, really, but that's hardly a reason to be impulsive."

"Are you suggesting that I don't love Molly?"

"No. I'm saying that you didn't think things through. If you love her...deeply, passionately, irrationally, then by all means, proceed. Did you believe every word I uttered that evening?"

Sherlock glared at Mycroft. He had never considered he had fabricated anything. "Of course. Do I have reason not to?"

"No. But then you should've learned a thing or two. Love is not to be played with. Love is beautiful, but it's also horrific. It tears you to pieces, only to put you back again, often leaving terrible scars. And it matters not whether you are happily in love or otherwise. Molly will do this. You will do this to her. But it can be the most wonderfully terrible thing hat ever happens to you, & you'll never be the same for it. I cannot comment on marriage...it may be that this is just what needs to happen. As it is, you're hardly young..."

"I'm only 37, Mycroft. I cannot boast old age."

"Really? You're that old? Well...forget everything I just said. This is likely the last opportunity you'll have..." He laughed aloud.

"When was the last time I told you to shut up? It cannot have been long ago," he rolled his eyes. "Why the strictures, Mycroft? I thought you liked Molly. I believed you'd be pleased."

"I am! She's lovely. She's perfect for you. But if you don't know your mind, you'll fuck it up. I am attempting to avoid such a catastrophe. Just promise me...you'll be a good husband to her, Sherlock. You don't deserve her, but you may improve with lessons," he finished. "Ah...she's back." He heard her ascending the stairs. Sherlock was forced out of his reverie.

"Mycroft! Have you any idea how much this was?"

"Cliquot is a fantastic brand," he returned. "And how often do I get to toast my brother? I believe this may be his virgin run...sorry, Sherlock. Couldn't resist."

Molly laughed heartily & handed the men a cigar a piece. She retrieved a pack of cigarettes for herself. Mycroft looked knowingly at his brother.

"If I told you to shut up as often as it entered my mind, you'd never talk," Sherlock smiled.

"And when have I ever listened to you? Molly, I'm afraid you have your work set out for you. Never fear, however. I'll be here as council."

"I'm eternally grateful, to be sure," Sherlock held his glass. "To us?"

"Yes. Fitting. Us!" Mycroft drank deeply.

"Us!" Molly exclaimed.

Sherlock looked at his fiancée. At his brother. He was, he felt, as lucky as he had proclaimed himself.


	19. Chapter 19

The wedding was approaching much more rapidly than either Mary or John should have liked. The date set, the invitations mailed, dresses, flowers, food, cake...all were finalized. It was to be a small affair at an equally small chapel, with an outside reception. John was concerned about the English weather, but Mary had assured him that it wouldn't rain in July, & John, knowing his fiancée, didn't doubt it. She likely had some influence on the weather. Molly was of course, the maid of honor, while Sherlock occupied the post as best man. Molly, not being terribly popular most of her life, was thrilled at being asked. She'd never been in a wedding party. Sherlock was annoyed. He would need to stand there & look pleased, make comments about the loveliness of everything, appear to be interested. He was, however, mildly so. Mycroft had influenced him greatly as of late. His brother was much more sentimental than Sherlock ever would have believed, even following his heartfelt speech regarding his past. Anthea had become part of the circle at Molly's insistence, though an outer ring of sorts. Most of them believed her to be rather rude, but Molly, forever the pacifier, insisted that she was simply sad. She did it mostly for Mycroft's benefit. Her regard for her future brother had grown enormously, which she could hardly believe. He was a regular visitor, much to Molly's delight. It even sat well with Sherlock, for though the sarcasm had not waned, it was much more playful. To think, reflected Sherlock, that all of this had been born of his loneliness, & now his life was bursting with people whom he loved so very dearly.

In truth, Mycroft was sentimental, though the recent developments in his life had caused it growth. His nature was softened. His mind was tamed. He still loved his work as much as he hated it, but it didn't consume him as it once did. He had a family now, & it delighted him to spend time in their company. He felt there was nothing wanting in his life. His work was important & fulfilling, his solitude now boasted plenty of music & novels, & he enjoyed a small social life with his brother, Molly, John & Mary.

::::::::::::

"Sherlock! Hurry! You'll make us late!" Molly was ready. Her hair & makeup were finished, her dress on & fitting nicely. She was standing in the doorway at 221B, & Sherlock was mucking about looking for cuff links.

"I cannot understand why I require these silly ornaments. Cuff links? Preposterous."

"Sherlock! We need to be there in half an hour & it's a 45 minute drive. I know math isn't really my strong suit...but even I know it doesn't add up."

"Ah...I know...I used one of them last week in that experiment with copper..."

"But...they're gold, not copper," Molly was confused.

"Precisely."

"Ok," Molly didn't care at this point. "Get them so we can go. I'll get a cab."

And off they dashed.

:::::::::::::::::

The pair arrived just five minutes late, quite good considering, & John hurried to greet them.

"Sherlock, where the hell have you been?"

"This is your fault, John. Cufflinks? Really?"

"Ok...never mind. Lets go...Molly, Mary's waiting...hang on. You look lovely!"

Molly blushed. "Thanks John. Where did you say Mary was?" She fiddled with the knee-length dress. It was grey-ish blue, with a form fitting bodice, & a full skirt. Mary had excellent taste. She recalled that Molly should wear flats.

The ceremony was lovely; only about 50 guests were in attendance, as per the couples design, so it was intimate.

Mary was stunning in her simple gown, & the garden where the tables & such were stationed was completely adorned with blooms. She had honeysuckle on the tables, for they reminded her of Italy, & only fond memories filled her mind when she reflected on the holiday. Mary Watson was the picture of poise & happiness. John was full of mirth. Sherlock, who was fidgeting as he was to deliver the customary best man speech, was idly wondering if Molly intended to go to this level of extreme in their wedding. He was inexperienced enough to not realize this was a modest affair.

"Well, Sherlock. Are you prepared?"

"Hm? Prepared for what, Mycroft?"

"Your speech, of course."

"Oh, that. Yes, I suppose so. Enjoying yourself?"

"Immensely. A small wedding, to be sure. But then, I suppose, they are the best kind."

"Small?" Sherlock looked about. There were plenty of people.

"Indeed, yes. Small by most standards...just make certain you embarrass John & not Mary..."

And after he uttered those words, he was jolted forward by a force from his back. Something, or someone, had fallen into him. "Good gracious! What the bloody hell...!"

And he turned. He saw, at his feet, a mass of red hair. Someone was stooped & hadn't raised their head.

"Pardon me...are you alright?"

She lifted her head now, & at first he thought she was crying, but soon realized she was laughing. "Oh! Yes...I am so sorry," she was getting up. "I'm am the clumsiest of people..." she laughed through her words. "Excuse me...I didn't spill anything? Or hurt anyone?"

"No...not at all," Mycroft looked at her. She appeared a bit like an elf, or a fairie. She was a petite thing, but her dark red hair made up for it. She was almost doll-like. Her hair was difficult to describe: dark red, as mentioned, very very thick, not curly, but not quite straight either, almost mermaid-like. And streaked with lighter shades of red, as though she had dyed it & then sat in full summer sun. Her eyes sparkled green. Her skin was pale, though not sickly. And she had, Mycroft noted, a tattoo of an antique looking key wrapped around her upper left arm.

Mycroft found his voice. "Are you...forgive me, I do hate repeating myself...but are you alright?"

"Oh, yes. You know not how often I fall into things. It usually only happens when I'm talking or otherwise engaged...where did he go?"

"Whom do you mean?"

"That fellow...oh, well...suppose I scared him off," she smiled. She held her hand out to be shaken. "I'm Odessa, Mary's cousin."

"Odessa? That's a rather..."

"Unusual. Yes. You are...?"

"Mycroft Holmes."

"Well. Speaking of unusual," she smiled kindly. "Oh! Hang on...you aren't the best man?"

"No. No...that'd be my brother," & he turned, but Sherlock was no where to be found. "My younger brother...yes. He was here a moment ago."

"Well, no matter," she let go of his hand. She hadn't realized she was still holding it. Neither had Mycroft. "Yes. At any rate, I'm Odessa Baynes. Very pleased to meet you. You'll need to pop by later at my table. We can chat." She gave a half-bow & turned.

He stood there watching her leave. Where was Mary? He needed to speak with her directly.


	20. Chapter 20

Sherlock had just finished his speech. Most people had found it rather amusing, there was laughter. He made his way to Molly, relieved to see her.

"Well, that's that, then."

"It was wonderful," & she kissed his mouth. "John enjoyed it...& I think Mary did - but where did she go? I only just saw her..." Molly was looking about.

"Oh, you know Mary. Probably telling the caterer they aren't catering well enough. Or the DJ his jockeying isn't up to scratch. Something along those lines..."

But no. Molly spotted her huddled with Mycroft. Strange.

::::::::

Mycroft was wary at the outset. He knew what would become of any inquiry about Odessa to Mary. She'd have them married in a week's time. He'd need to tread quite lightly.

When he saw her, he took in a very deep breath. "Pardon me, Mary..."

"Oh! Mycroft! Wasn't that a wonderful speech. And he was so worried."

"Yes, indeed. Sherlock did a marvelous job," he was attempting to think of a convenient segue, but decided to simply be forthright. Mary was clever. She would know what he was about. "I had the opportunity to meet one of your relations a few moments ago."

"Is that right? Which? Some are rather nutty..."

Hm. "Odessa. Baynes, was it?"

"Yes. Baynes. She's my mother's brother's daughter. Lovely, but so very odd."

"Nutty?"

"No...but odd. She's an interesting person..." She eyed Mycroft curiously.

"Indeed. How so?"

"Well...her's is a long story, Mycroft. But I'd be happy to tell you...come. Let's along this path."

And in her white gown, she started to walk with him, & tell the tale of Odessa Baynes, at least to the best of her ability.

::::::::

"Odessa is an only child. Her mother died when she was quite young...five, perhaps? At any rate, it almost seemed as though she stopped growing after that. Tell me, how old do you think she is?"

"I really couldn't say."

"Younger than 30?"

He certainly hoped not. "Well, I don't know about that...but perhaps 30."

"She's 41."

"No!"

"It's true. People always think she's at least 10 years younger than she is. Hateful girl..." Mary muttered under her breath.

Mycroft smiled. "That is singular."

"Quite. She was always that way," Mary reflected. "At any rate, she graduated from university not really knowing what she wanted, who she was. She decided to join the New Scotland Yard. Become an officer of the law. She thought it would help her understand the 'real world' as she put it. She met a junior officer there, & became engaged to him. A short while after, it was discovered that he was physically abusing her."

Mycroft gasped. "How awful."

"Yes...but you know, if anyone could handle such a thing, it's Odessa. She left after a few months & never looked back. She was promoted to detective before she quit."

"She was quite good, then?"

"Very. She was good at virtually everything she attempted. She left, however, & opened a used book store a few miles outside of London. She also does writing consultation, I believe. She plays something...some string instrument...I can't recall which. But her youthfulness...her laughter at everything...it's often off-putting," Mary stopped. She didn't wish to deter Mycroft if he truly liked her. He should figure some things out for himself.

"Yes..."

Mary smiled. "Mycroft?"

"Hm?"

"What are you thinking?" They had stopped their stroll.

"I'm not sure...but I think...I think I'll go & find your cousin. She seems delightful."

"Alright. I have guests I need to attend to," and she left.

What was he doing? He should leave before things started that he couldn't stop. He really should go.

Yes. He'd say his goodbyes & head home.

He saw her sitting by herself at her table. She was running her fingers alongside the stem of her wineglass. She spotted him & smiled.


	21. Chapter 21

He hesitated a moment. He was certainly too old for this sort of thing. He had much to consider. Yet, what could the harm be in speaking with her for a bit? Attraction notwithstanding, none at all. Yes. He'd go over to her. He'd likely find her dull & that would set his mind at ease.

"Sherlock? What are you doing?" Molly was approaching him. She hadn't seen him in a while, & she was hoping to have a dance with him. She noticed he was looking intently at something...she was wary of it. She knew that look.

He didn't answer. Instead, he moved away toward a table a short distance away. Molly followed him with her eyes, & saw where he was going. There, sitting with a lovely woman, was Mycroft.

"Hello, Mycroft."

"Sherlock! Hello. Whatever are you doing?"

He smiled. "I was just about to ask you that very thing." He eyed the lady curiously. Young, but not very. His age. She took care of herself, but not with much purpose. Her lack of a handbag betrayed that. Her hair was quite long, nearly the whole of her back was draped in it. Poor grooming, not bothering to fix it up. Her makeup was minimal, so she had natural beauty. Welsh, or Irish decent given her pallor & color of her hair & eyes. Confident, the way she sat suggested that Mycroft's staggering intellect did nothing to intimidate her. Or perhaps she was too daft to notice...no...Mycroft wouldn't bother with an idiot. Bright, then. Her tattoo was tripping him up. A sordid past? A drunken mistake? Unclear. It was a curious thing to have a tattoo of...an old key? Perhaps she was sentimental.

Mycroft knew exactly what he was doing in the ten seconds that had lapsed. He smiled.

"Well, Sherlock. Allow me to introduce Ms Odessa Baynes."

"It's a pleasure," and he offered his hand, which she accepted graciously.

"The best man. Lovely speech. And a detective, no less...how very exciting," she smiled prettily.

"Yes...consulting detective."

"Oh? I am a consultant as well, though I've abandoned my detective work."

Sherlock sniggered, "Is that so? You've been a detective?"

"Oh, yes. At the Yard, many years hence now. A rare thing then, female detective."

"How long ago?" And he sat with them.

"Well...I'd say at least 15 years now."

"Indeed? What is your age?" Sherlock had abandoned decorum in his shock.

Mycroft was amused at the banter, but would not abide rudeness. "You'll forgive my brother, Odessa, he often forgets himself."

"Not at all. I've nothing to hide," she smiled warmly & turned again to Sherlock. "I'm 41."

"And what is your consulting work?"

"Writing. I'm a writing consultant."

Sherlock was intrigued. "That is fascinating. How does one get into that line of work? Was that your area of study at university?" It hardly seemed likely, as she was a detective previously.

"Well...which degree do you mean?"

The Holmes boys were silent. Mycroft regained his person first. "Pardon me, Odessa. Did you say 'which degree?' How many do you have?"

She smiled a crooked smile. "Three."

"Three?" They said in unison.

This caused her to laugh aloud. "Indeed. Three. Writing, literature, & neuroscience. But not in that order."

"Neuroscience?" Sherlock nearly stammered. Surely she obtained said degrees from less than reputable institutions.

"Yes."

"From where?"

"MIT. In the States. I returned to Cambridge for literature. Writing was done at King's College."

Mary hadn't mentioned her academic achievements. Nor that she had been to America. "And tell me, Odessa, how did you like America?"

"Not much. MIT was fine, but it was that which made me consider detective work. Boston was lovely, but an undercurrent was constantly present. I didn't wish to see the same happen in London. I suppose I didn't realize it was already here," she became reflective.

"Well. I daresay I've hardly heard a more impressive academic résumé. Three degrees from three world renowned institutions. What have you to say on the matter, Sherlock?"

Sherlock was rendered mute.

"It appears my brother has little opinion on it," said Mycroft in his stead. He smiled at him. "And where is your lovely fiancée? I hope you haven't abandoned her."

Odessa perked up at this. "You're engaged? Well! That is news! Congratulations. Where is the lucky girl?"

"Molly is over...was over there," Sherlock indicated the place where he had left her. "Well, I suppose I should find her out. Mycroft," he nodded. "Odessa. It was...a pleasure." And he stood to leave.

"You'll forgive me, but you hardly seem the type to have obtained so many...er...achievements academically. Why aren't you teaching at university?"

"That's one of the nicest compliments I've ever received, Mycroft Holmes. Thank you," and she tipped her glass. "But honestly, I'm not a Doctor. None of them are PhDs. I have a masters in writing, that's all."

"Even so..."

"I love what I do. Owning a bookshop, well, it's a dream I'd often had. I'm lucky to have it. It's a complete reflection of me. Part of me, I might even say."

"I would love to see it sometime. What's it's name?"

"Thornfield. As in "Thornfield Hall," a la Jane Eyre. Do you know it?"

He smiled widely. "It's been ages since I read it."

"It's one of my favorites," her green eyes gleamed. Mycroft made a note to check his library for the volume when he returned home.


	22. Chapter 22

"Sherlock, when was the last time you heard from Mycroft?" Molly had just poured out two coffees for them.

"Dunno. The wedding, I suppose."

Molly thought a moment. "Did he go home with that woman?"

"No idea," he returned. He was at the kitchen table with his microscope.

"You know, I wish you'd move your things upstairs to the spare room. It's ridiculous to have all of these on the kitchen table."

He sighed. "Are you worried about him, Molly?"

"Well...no. Not as such. I mean, it's only been a week. But we usually see him every few days now...I suppose I just miss him. Silly, I guess." She lowered her eyes.

"It's not, really. Your kind & gentle nature demands it. I'll text him & see if he'd care to stop by. Will that set you right?"

"Thanks, yes." And she kissed his cheek.

Well, Mycroft. It'd be something to hear what's going on with you...and he texted him.

::::::::::::::

He had expected it. He called his brother to leave a voice message, as he knew Sherlock wouldn't pick up. He'd be delighted to pop by, of course.

Up he went to 221B, without vigor, & a touch of saunter.

He entered the flat.

"Mycroft!" And Molly went over to him. She stopped. "What's wrong?"

"Sorry?"

"Something's wrong."

Sherlock approached. "What's wrong with Mycroft?"

Molly stood looking at him. "Mycroft?"

"Really, I've no idea what you are on about..." And he entered fully.

"Is it anything to do with Odessa?" Molly inquired.

He sat down. "Not at all."

"Well...what then? Molly's right, you're out of sorts."

"Have you seen her?"

Ah. She was good. He truly loved her. He lowered his eyes. "I have not." He began playing with his umbrella.

Hm...yes, she saw now. "Sherlock...can you boil a kettle?" She sat across from him. "Have you spoken with her at all?"

"I emailed her...I may have been a bit too eager, I fear."

"Why? Didn't she respond?"

"She did...but I think that...I'm not ready for this sort of thing."

Sherlock entered. "Mycroft, how old are you?"

"I'm 47. You know that."

"Precisely. You're ready," he was smug.

"Well...perhaps ready isn't an apt term...more like...uninterested."

Sherlock was shocked. "Uninterested? Mycroft...you practically shagged her with your eyes."

"You are crude, brother."

Molly sipped her tea. "Why don't we take a drive to see her? Doesn't she own a shop? I'd be happy to accompany you."

"Excellent notion, Molly. Do go with him. He'll be sullen & withdrawn forever if you don't sort it out. And then I'll be annoyed. And then you'll be annoyed. And then we shall have separate sleeping arrangements, which will lead to anger & frustration...& then you'll break off the engagement since you cannot tolerate my mood. Really, Mycroft, do you wish to be the catalyst for Molly's & mine estrangement?"

Mycroft was staring at his brother. "Molly, if ever there was a saint, it's you, dear," he smiled at her. "I suppose...yes. I suppose a drive to her bookshop wouldn't hurt. I'll be by tomorrow afternoon..."

"Nope! Lets go now. Sherlock, order Chinese."

"But..." He wasn't ready to do this just yet.

"Here's your coat, Mycroft. I have my phone. Will a taxi take us? Or do we need the train?"

Mycroft swallowed. "I have my driver, of course...but I don't think..."

"Wonderful! Lets off, then. By Sherlock!"

Sherlock kissed her...smiled at Mycroft. "Good luck, brother."

"Indeed," was his retort.


	23. Chapter 23

He sat cross-legged, staring out of the window next to Molly. His tall stature never really allowed him to stretch out his long limbs. Molly, petite & exceedingly sensitive, worried that he was cramped.

"Should I move for you? You seem so uncomfortable."

"Not at all. I always sit this way in the car."

She smiled. "That explains a lot."

He laughed at her. "Thank you so much for making me do this. Truly, I wouldn't have done it if you hadn't."

"I know that, Mycroft. Why do think I offered?" And she touched his hand.

He sighed, & patted hers. "What am I doing, Molly? Why am I even bothering?"

"Because. Because you need to. Because you have much to offer & if you don't give it to someone, it'll shrivel up & die inside. It'll be the death of you...I'm surprised it hasn't been already. You're strong & brave & lovely. You are brilliant. You are the best of people, Mycroft Holmes, & if I weren't in love with your brother, I'd want you myself. Odessa is very, very lucky."

He stared at her. He took her hand once more & kissed it. "How much I adore you...I really can't say."

"Good. Save it for her," & she touched his cheek. She then turned away & looked out of the window...breathing a sigh of satisfaction.

::::::::::::::::::

Odessa was fidgeting with her MacBook. Irksome, hateful thing. Well, in truth it was the Internet connection, but since that was invisible, she couldn't scold it. She pulled her mane back into a hair tie & sighed. Began drumming her fingers on the table. Blast. He'll never return her email.

She had had a poor run romantically - not that she minded much, romance was hardly ever at the forefront of her thoughts. True, she enjoyed some romantic novels. Yes, she liked stories in general better if they included a happy romantic ending, but she had concluded that that was simply not going to be part of her life. That suited her fine. Almost.

She got up to brew more coffee. Odessa loathed tea. She sighed & began humming a tune. She thought she should see to her viola, it had been a while since she'd played.

Her mind continued to wander to Mycroft Holmes. He had been such a gentleman. So attentive. He only wanted for a bit more laughter, & since she laughed quite often, it seemed a logical match. Her & Mycroft. But, perhaps he had been injured. Perhaps he didn't find her attractive. Perhaps he was gay. She stopped. Was he? No...not with the email he had sent. She never fancied herself terribly attractive. Her hair always a mess. Her complexion too freckly. Her eyes too green. Her frame too small. Bony, even. True, she never bothered to attend to these matters. She always assumed that should someone fall in love with her, it'd be for intangible reasons. She neglected to realize that she must first attract someone.

Her fault, then. Blast it. Where were those damnable cigarettes?

Rummaging in her desk, she heard the front door open.

"Be out in a tick!" She called out. Smoking will have to wait.

She walked out to the storefront. The sun was shining fully through the front of the store, so her eyes were temporarily blinded. No matter, she heard his voice.

"What a lovely place. It does suit you well."

Her eyes adjusted. And there he stood, smiling at her.


	24. Chapter 24

She couldn't move immediately. She found her voice, however.

"Mycroft. This is...unexpected."

"But I hope not unwelcome."

"No! No..."

And she saw Molly. "Hello."

Molly walked over to her & extended her hand. "Molly Hooper."

"Molly is my future sister in law."

Odessa looked from Mycroft to Molly. "Oh! It's a...very great pleasure." She smiled warmly. "Would the two of you care for coffee?" And she gestured for them to sit at an old table & chairs.

::::::::::::

Molly found her delightful. She was, admittedly, a bit forceful in nature, but not in an obnoxious way. No, she maintained a healthy decorum, which suited Mycroft well. Molly watched him listen to Odessa. He was rapt, eager, & smiling. He added anecdotes, which she received with equal vigor. She chided him for being too hard on his brother, which she maintained was ill-advised, given Molly's presence; but Mycroft insisted that if anyone knew what an impossible git Sherlock was better than he, it was Molly. Molly smiled her assent.

"How long have you owned the shop, Odessa?" Molly did like it.

"Oh...about five years...perhaps not quite."

"And do you employ anyone as help?"

"Yes. The weekends see me quite busy. It's lucky you came when you did. I have a few students that help, & one delightful elderly woman. Mrs. Pratt."

Mycroft added, "Is that when you do your consulting work? The weekend?"

"No. It depends, but I often do it here, over the week, as it never gets terribly busy. But it hardly ever takes me much time. I have only about 20 clients."

He smiled. He was concerned that she was as busy as he & they'd never see one another.

"Odessa, you should join us for dinner this Friday at mine & Sherlock's flat. What do you say?" Molly smiled.

"I..." She had rather hoped that Mycroft might ask her to dinner, but perhaps this was best. He obviously was very fond of his brother & his fiancée. Perhaps he was nervous, & comfortable company would ease his mind. "Thank you, yes. That would be lovely."

"Wonderful! Mycroft will send you the particulars," Molly said. "It's getting late, Mycroft. We should be going. I'll wait for you outside. Odessa, it was truly a pleasure. Thank you." And she got up to exit without preamble, or indeed, time to let the pair respond.

That left Mycroft alone with her. "I'm sorry if I unnecessarily surprised you by my visit."

"Oh no. Please. I welcomed it. I had begun to wonder...perhaps you weren't...interested in...erm..." She wasn't sure how to proceed. "In continuing where we left off at the wedding." There, nothing presumptuous in that.

He smiled at her. "I have thought of little else."

Odessa blushed. "Oh." She played with her cup.

"I am, you should know, a very busy man, Odessa. My work sees me at the office nearly twelve hours daily. I love my work, but I think...lately...it's not as quite as fulfilling as it once was. That charming lady that accompanied me here today has helped me realize that."

"She seems everything lovely."

"She is...& more. My brother is very lucky. I sometimes envy him..." His voice trailed. "However, I only envy his situation. It was something I never expected or wished for myself, but perhaps I was in error."

"Yes. I often dismiss matters of the heart. But sometimes, they are not to be ignored. Sometimes, they are so very loud, it's impossible to do so."

Mycroft was looking at her. The sun was setting, casting soft light in the rather dimly lit store. It smelled musty, the way an old bookshop should. Odessa's style was of a vintage sort, so old tapestry-like hangings donned the walls, old paintings, old lamps. Very eclectic. He thought it a touch messy, but so charming he could overlook it.

"Yes. Indeed...well. Molly's waiting. Should I phone you the address?" He stood. She mimicked his motion.

"I look forward to it," she held out her hand for him to shake. Instead, his took it gently, & raised it to his lips. He smiled, & left the shop.

Oh my. Odessa was standing stark still. If ever a gentleman existed, it was surely Mycroft Holmes. Her hand finally landed back to her side. She wrapped her arms around her tiny frame. She suddenly felt a chill.

She began to close the shop, recounting every word he uttered, every look he gave, what made him laugh, what made him sullen. She smiled at the thoughts. Her heart fluttered a touch. Shit, she was falling for him.

Well, why not? If she was careful, it might work. He was a tender soul, she believed, and had been hurt. If she didn't force anything, took it slowly, everything would be fine. She wasn't certain that she would like to jump into anything, either.

And Molly & Mycroft laughed & smiled home to Baker Street. How happy she was. How delighted was he. It could not have gone any better, & Friday would set everything in motion. Yes, Molly believed a more subtle approach to matchmaking was much more effective.


	25. Chapter 25

"Molly?"

"Yes?"

"Have you given our...ah...wedding any thought?"

Sherlock had been playing his violin. Since their announcement, they hadn't really spoken about it. He was beginning to realize that she didn't want a large affair. Her family was quite small, she had but one younger sister whom she wasn't terribly close with.

Molly was dusting the flat. She enjoyed tidying up. Her general tendencies were pretty laid back, so it didn't bother her that the flat wasn't really in her taste. She felt that, should they stay there, she'd want to change the sofa, perhaps hang a painting she had in storage, but that was really all. She looked at Sherlock.

"No. Honestly, I haven't really. Have you?"

"Well, now that you mention it...I have," he set down his violin. "What do you say to returning to Italy? We could wed there & honeymoon. It seems that you really don't mind either way, so it might prove to be the best option."

"That's a wonderful idea!"

Sherlock's face lit up.

"But..."

His face fell.

"But what about Mycroft? John & Mary? I'd want them there."

"Well...so long as its just them, we can invite them along."

She ran to him & wrapped her arms around him. "You really are quite brilliant. I do love you so."

"I know. It's startling, really."

She looked up at him quizzically. "Which bit?"

"Both. It never ceases to amaze me that you love me. And I'm often astonished at my intellect."

"Bastard," and she kissed him fully. His hands wrapped his arms around her.

"You know, Molly, I believe it's long past your bedtime."

"Is it?" She smiled crookedly.

"Yes...you have been naughty. Time to see to that..."

::::::::::::::::::::::::

Molly Hooper was readying dinner. She was irritated that Mary Watson brought up her lack of engagement ring while on the phone again. Surely Sherlock can afford it. What's he doing, anyway. She insisted that he wasn't avoiding the matter. It wasn't important to Molly, why was it bothering her? Sometimes she wondered why she bothered with Mary, but she did like her...mostly. Actually, if she thought about it, she much preferred Odessa's company. She had some of Mary's bluntness, but had a touch of tact she lacked. She would always love Mary, but she also felt that it might be good for their friendship if she distanced herself a bit until after her & Sherlock were married. It would give her less to criticize.

Sherlock entered the kitchen dressed for dinner. "Well. How are things here?"

"Wonderful. Is the table ready?"

"Just as you asked."

"I suppose now we just need our dinner guests."

Sherlock's phone rang out a text. Couldn't be Mycroft, he never texts.

"Found him. Am apprehending. Stop by in the morning?"

-GL

"Ah. Lestrade..."

"Oh Sherlock...not tonight!"

"No. In the morning I'll need to..." and they heard Mycroft enter downstairs. He was laughing with Odessa.

In they strode. "Good evening, Sherlock, Molly. Here. I brought some refreshment."

He handed Sherlock a bottle. "Thanks Mycroft. Hello again, Odessa. Looking lovely..."

"Thank you. Good to see you, Molly."

Pleasantries were then finished after Molly gave Mycroft a hug. The meal passed along well enough, though Sherlock had been interrupted a few times by texts from Scotland Yard.

"Can't you turn that off, Sherlock? It's bothersome," Molly was irritated.

"Middle of a case."

"I thought you had solved it."

"Oh, no. The killer is crafty..."

Molly was confused. "But...Greg said he apprehended someone."

"A decoy," Odessa interjected.

Sherlock looked at her. "Quite right...how did you..."

"Well, it's what I'd've done with a crafty killer," she smiled her crooked smile.

"Indeed," Sherlock was impressed. "Tell me, Odessa, & I hope I'm not being too meddlesome, but what does your tattoo mean?"

Odessa's mood changed ever so slightly.

Mycroft glared at Sherlock. "Really, Sherlock, that's hardly appropriate. Apologies, Odessa."

"No...I don't mind. It's a silly story, really." She took a sip of brandy. "No doubt...NO doubt, Mary had filled you in on some of my past." She received no indication that they hadn't, so she continued. "My mum...she was lovely. I am much more like her than my dad. Not that I don't love him, but we are very different. At any rate, she died when I was six. A few months before she passed, she told me a story about her family. She said that we were of a Welsh clan...one that could summon fairies." Sherlock's eyes rolled a touch. "But because the fairies were in danger here, in danger of human people, we needed to lock them safely away, so no harm would befall them. She showed me this key..." She referenced her arm. "She said, take good care of it Odessa. You have the secrets to all that is mysterious in this world. She had the key always around her neck as my grandfather had given it to her. I took a picture of it, since it was buried with her, & had it tattooed to my arm so I'd have it always."

Molly was transfixed. "That is...lovely."

Sherlock was vindicated. Sentimental.

Mycroft was staring into space. He thought that if there was ever occasion to tattoo ones person, that was it.

Odessa smiled. She spotted something by the window. "Who plays?"

"You mean the violin? Sherlock. He's wonderful," Molly beamed at him.

"And Mycroft, you play piano?"

"Yes...& the violin. But Sherlock is, admittedly, a touch better."

"We should all play sometime. I don't nearly as often as I should like," Odessa was excited.

"You play?" asked Sherlock.

"Yes. The viola."

"Is there anything you cannot do, Odessa? A true renaissance lady," there was a touch of irritation in Sherlock's voice.

"Much like you, Sherlock. And yes, there's plenty I cannot do," she winked at him.

Sherlock laughed aloud. He might have met his equal. Mycroft was certainly, in many things, better than Sherlock. But he'd never give him the satisfaction of declaring it.


	26. Chapter 26

In all that's sweet & tender, in the depths of his very soul, he never wished any of this upon himself. Elowen, as he could now mentally say, had given him as much as she had taken, & he was left with a hollow shell of a heart. Little by little, he had felt it fill again. Slowly, ever so slowly, his life had grown to include family & love. He never wished to be that person that shied away from others in fear of attachment. He had never supposed himself better than anyone else if they were emotionally attached to someone. He had, however, fancied himself weak when he exhibited those tendencies. Weak & silly. He had taught his brother those lessons, but had managed to undo what he had done by virtue of their mutual adoration of Molly.

And now, it was his turn. But he had no elder brother to turn to. His mother, while still alive, was hardly a person to confide in. That left his brother, his brother's fiancée, & John & Mary. He needed some advice. He needed someone to help sort it out for him. He needed direction. What he had told his brother in Italy was how he should like to behave: stop being daft, & tell her how you feel. However, Sherlock had no experience in this, where he had. He knew that Molly loved Sherlock. He couldn't say if Odessa cared for him. Despite Mycroft's experience, he was not well versed enough to implement any plan of action for himself. He was nervous, but his nature demanded he was not. He was teeming with feeling, but his countenance wouldn't reveal it.

He decided to call John & Molly. They were the gentlest of the lot. Perhaps they might stop by his flat for some tea.

Of course they agreed to. John was a tad bit nervous about Mary discovering anything. He knew how much she'd wish to be privy to the situation.

"Good afternoon, John, Molly. Please come in..." and he stepped aside to allow them entry.

"My pleasure, Mycroft. Is everything ok?" Molly inquired.

"Yes of course. However, I thought that the two of you might help me sort out a very pressing matter," he motioned for them to sit & poured out some tea.

John was smiling at Mycroft. "You know, I never once imagined you asking me for help. Not once. I often thought I'd be coming to you..."

"And you'll always have it, John. But I'm hardly immune to needing the advice of another. I have aids, etc., that will offer their opinion. Said opinions are often erroneous in nature, but it's always nice to have them offered," he smiled. Molly laughed. "Yes. Well. As you might imagine, I've asked you here today to discuss Odessa."

"That charming, lovely lady you fell in love with at our wedding?"

"I'd hardly say that I'm in love with her, John. But yes. The very one."

"What about it, Mycroft? Has something happened since our dinner?"

Mycroft took a sip of tea. "No. I've spoken with her, & I've asked her to dinner this Friday. I suppose...I suppose what I'm asking for is some advice. Help me sort out my own...er...feelings on the matter..." he very nearly looked as though he might be physically ill.

"Mycroft! If you can't even say the word 'feelings' without appearing nauseous, how do you expect to be able to declare anything?" Molly was shocked.

"Hang on, Molls. I've dealt with this before..." John tapped her hand. "Look mate. I know you & Sherlock have issues with matters of the heart. I know that you lot think of it as weak, or silly," (Mycroft winced at Johns's astute observation). "But I'll tell you what. If you never take this chance, you'll regret it forever. You've been hurt, mate. You know how dreadful it feels. You know you don't want to experience anything like that again. But the lack of trying will likely do similar damage. Tell her you like her. That you find her attractive. It's not anything more, is it?"

"No...no I don't think so."

"No. And I tell you what. You're a hell a lot better at eloquent speech making than your brother. Poetry & all. You'll be fine," John concluded.

"Well...thank you, John. But...is it really time to declare anything? Isn't it a bit soon?" There was a hint of nerves in his voice.

"But you aren't, Mycroft," said Molly's sweet voice. "You're simply telling her you enjoy her company. That you find her delightful to look at. When...& if...the time comes to tell her more, we will help you." She smiled warmly. "Do you want me to call you Friday?"

Mycroft returned her smile. "Yes...I think that'd be lovely."

"Well, Mycroft, feeling any better?" John looked pleased.

"Yes...I suppose I am," he changed course. "Tell me John, how is Mary? It seems ages since I've seen her."

And they spoke in this fashion another hour before John & Molly took their leave. Friday was but three days away, & Mycroft felt it fiercely.


	27. Chapter 27

The moon hung low in the sky. It had been a lovely evening, & Mycroft reflected on how much Molly had aided him in his quest to maintain a modicum of decorum. She had told him how much he needed to do this thing, even if nothing came of it.

And he did. He drove to Odessa's home (modest, cottage-like, not far from her shop), & they went to dinner at a local restaurant. He thought how apt her house, for it seemed as though it was built for a fairie, & there she was.

Conversation flowed readily. They both had much to say to one another, & Odessa never felt as though it was forced. She liked him. She liked him much more than she would ever have anticipated. She thought, perhaps, he liked her as well. He was difficult to read.

They were walking back to the shop, Mycroft had indicated he wished to see it more fully. In they went, the shop dark despite the full moon, & Odessa went to pour out some wine.

He was examining the volumes. Many classics. Many how-to books. Some non-fiction, quantum physics a-plenty. He picked up Stephen Hawking.

"Have you read this?" Asked he, as she returned with two glasses of merlot.

"Yes."

"And what are your thoughts on the expansive universe?"

Odessa laughed. "Well, that's a rather large topic...I suppose...it makes me feel rather small. I only read such things when I'm in a very particular mood. It can cause distress."

"Indeed? What sort of mood?"

A pensive look adorned her face. "It's difficult to describe...vanity, perhaps? A sense of too much worth? This certainly minimizes that tendency."

"I imagine so," he replied & took a sip of wine.

She smiled. "So...does the place meet with your approval?"

"Of course. It is lovely..." He paused. He thought it was time. The evening had gone quite well. "Odessa," he put the glass down & his face was cast in moonlight. Odessa knew now why people thought him intimidating. "I have had a beautiful evening...& I hope that you share the thought."

"Yes..." her voice revealed acknowledgement of a speech.

"Good," and his hands went into his pockets as he approached the front window. "Excellent. I was wondering...might you be interested in continuing on in this fashion?"

Odessa laughed, she couldn't help herself, & Mycroft appeared affronted. "I'm sorry - I didn't mean - Mycroft Holmes, are you attempting to begin a relationship romantic in nature with me?"

"I am, yes."

"Wonderful! I feel exactly the same way." She went over to him & brought his face to hers. "I think you're everything lovely, & I couldn't be more pleased," she finished, & she kissed him.

At first, he was nervous, & his reaction to her physical contact betrayed that. But he soon relaxed, & succumbed to her action. When she let him go, his eyes remained shut. "I think..." his eyes still hadn't opened, "I think...I should go..."

"You what? That's rather rude."

"But...it's our first...er...date. I do not wish to be presumptuous."

Odessa smiled, "Open your eyes Mycroft. Look at me." He did as she said. "I am 41. You are 47. I think we are well passed presumptions. Lets go. My house is but a 10 minute walk. Send your driver home...I'll drive you in the morning."

She took his hand & they left. Through a smallish meadow where tall grass nearly covered Odessa's entire person; wherein even Mycroft felt intimidated by its length. And as they made their way through, he felt his past melt with the oncoming dew, the moon rising was his dimly lit future. Metaphors clung to the trees, symbols of his resolve to abandon his isolation & move forward with anticipation with the fairie lady at his side.


	28. Chapter 28

She entered the sitting room where she saw Sherlock writing some notes furiously in his music composition book. He never composes so early in the morning when not on a case. She walked over toward him.

"Sherlock? Are you ok?"

He looked at her. His look was confusing.

"He isn't responding to my texts."

"Who?"

"Mycroft, of course."

"Does he ever? Doesn't he usually call?" Molly looked at him quizzically.

He slammed the pen down, causing her to jump.

She stepped aside. "Look, what's wrong? You're very upset..."

"I am not upset!" He noted the tone of his voice. "I am not. I'm merely..."

"Worried?" She smiled.

"Hardly. We are to invite everyone today. And where is my dear brother? Off galavanting around with some pixie-ish woman. She has no idea what he's about. He is an infuriating, irritating, sarcastic, moody man. What are they doing, anyway? How is...whatever it is they are doing more important than an invitation to my...our wedding?" He was off now, frantically gesticulating, hand running through hair, pacing & squinting. There was little that would stop him, so Molly let him go. "And he is aware that this was to be an arrangement. He knows! He's never around when one wants him, & the rest, he's sitting there, consuming cake & biscuits, offering his annoying strictures on everything but what matters, pretending he can play the violin."

"Are you through?" He was winded from his diatribe. Molly moved toward him. "Yes," he returned.

"Good. And I'd say, Mycroft likely spent the night with her."

"Whom do you mean?"

"Are you serious?"

"Molly, if I told you once..."

"Odessa, of course."

Sherlock looked at her. Uh-oh. That look was never good.

"You mean...he..."

"Well, why not?"

"Oh. Oh, yes. I see," he went to the kitchen. "Molly, I require your mobile."

"Why?"

"So Mycroft will answer. He will if you call..& I'll merely be the voice on the line."

She sighed. "Fine, Sherlock." And she fetched her phone.

:::::::::::::::::

What was that blasted ring? Over & over it rang out. He turned over, & his visage was filled with a mass of red. Odessa's hair. His mind was filled with recollection at what transpired the night previous. Again that irritating sound. His mobile! Shit. He got up to acquire it. Could it be Russia? France? God, that'd be dreadful...Spain? Worse. Sherlock had texted him 9 times, & he missed 2 calls from Molly. He began to dress furiously. He was attempting to be quiet, not wanting to wake her. He was nearly out the room when he remembered. Dammit. No car.

"Odessa?" He touched her arm.

"Hm?" She returned sleepily.

"I...need to get going. I forgot, Sherlock & Molly had invited me to a late breakfast at their flat. They are...rather obnoxiously attempting to reach me."

"Oh. Alright." She sat up & rubbed her face. "Alright...I'll be ready in a sec. Can you brew some coffee? We can be off in ten minutes."

And sure enough, just as she predicted, they were off. Mycroft texted his brother to calm his fierce concern.

:::::::::::::::

John & Mary were already present, sipping coffee.

"And so...he spent the night?" John was positively giddy with delight.

"It appears so," said Molly.

"Well, Molly. You have been busy. Mycroft & Odessa. Well done," there was a hint of jealousy in her voice. She thought herself outdone by the pathologist.

"Can we discuss something besides my brother's love life?"

"Well, Sherlock, no need to get annoyed," John returned. "A bit jealous?"

"Hardly. But I have more pressing concerns..."

And in strolled Mycroft, head held high, smiling at the group. "Lovely morning, isn't it?" He walked over to the table to obtain a biscuit. Everyone stared at him. John burst out in laughter.

"Sorry! Sorry! I just..." & he continued to laugh. "Right. Sorry. Ah-hem. Yes. Lovely...and how are you, Mycroft? Refreshed?" And he laughed again.

Molly walked over to him. "Is Odessa joining us, Mycroft?" She glared at John.

He hadn't stopped looking at the doctor. "I...hadn't asked. I thought..." And ceased his quizzical stare at John. "I thought that was assuming a bit much."

"Nonsense! Invite her!" Molly looked at Sherlock. He was stoic.

:::::::::::

Six of them. There were now six. They were all going to Italy to witness Sherlock Holmes marry Molly Hooper. The same villa was rented, & Mary would help with the dress. It would be lovely. Perfect. John would serve as best man (Mycroft had insisted), & Mary matron of honor. Matches were made, marriages arranged, all was so very very right. In a fortnight, they would seal their fate where it all began, & Molly was absolutely ecstatic at the prospect.


	29. Chapter 29

She had forgotten the scent of the air; she longed to be able to bottle it for future retrieval. Molly was wandering in the garden, smelling the sweet air. It was her favorite time of the day, & Italy's warmth played softly on her skin. She was smiling to herself, recalling her journey to this point. Full of uncertainty she had been. Trepidation, fear, shyness, & loneliness permeated her existence. Molly had convinced herself that she had been happy in her isolation. She loved her books, but they hardly were ample company. Somehow, though she continued to wonder at it, Sherlock Holmes had fallen in love with her & now they were to be married in a couple of days. Married. How inconceivably wonderful.

Her hand brushed lightly over the blooms, & she smelled something rather stale amongst the sweetness. A cigarette. Either Sherlock or Mycroft were in the garden. Perhaps both.

She spotted her fiancée sitting at the table she would perch at & read. He had put out his smoke, but was drinking a honey colored liquid.

"Enjoy your tour of the garden?" He asked.

"Yes. It is so beautiful."

He smiled at her. "As are you."

Molly blushed. "You don't need to say such things."

"I know I don't need to, Molly. But this is hardly my area. I'm...practicing for a lifetime of making you feel beautiful. When I met you, your self image was dreadfully low."

She stared at him. He hardly ever said such things. "My self image?"

"Yes. How you view yourself?"

"I know what my self image is. But...what do you know about it?"

Sherlock sighed. "Molly, it is both my gift & my job to observe things. To put together puzzles at alarming speed. Why wouldn't I notice that? Especially in the woman whom I love."

"But...you didn't love me then. And, you're awfully daft about some things. Consider Mycroft..."

"Why would I consider Mycroft? He's exhausting in every respect."

"He's not! And he's your brother, yet you hardly know him..." Her voice trailed off. She thought perhaps that last bit might upset him.

It hadn't. "I know him. I know him, Molly. Truth is, is...& if you ever repeat this, I'll deny I said it, emphatically...Mycroft is smarter than I am. He's smarter, he knows it, I know it. I am forever second guessing myself when it comes to him - he's sexual orientation is an excellent example - & more often than not, I'm wrong about him. You noticed how quickly I recovered from that error? It was because I wasn't surprised at it. He's the only person alive that renders me thus. And only recently has he shed some of his smugness regarding it. And I believe I've always loved you."

Molly had been rapt at his speech, but the last bit took her off guard. "Sorry? What was that?"

He smiled. "I was, as you say, too daft to see. But I've always loved you, Molly Hooper. And I'm grateful you waited for me."

Her eyes betrayed a tear. She stood & went to him, sat on his lap, & ran her fingers through his hair. They kissed in the garden, at the table she had sat at when he had first declared himself to her.

Tomorrow her & Mary would select a dress. The next day, her & Sherlock would be married. Oh, lovely lovely Italy.


	30. Chapter 30

"This is perfect, Molly! How lovely!"

Molly looked at the frock apprehensively. "I dunno, Mary. It's rather...ostentatious. Something pretty, simple. Flowing..."

"But...you're the bride! You want everyone to be looking at you!"

Molly rolled her eyes a touch. "Mary, there's to be five, well, six if you count the minister, people there. Who else will they be looking at? Odessa? Do you not agree?"

Odessa was along the periphery of the conversation. She knew her cousin & her ways. She knew Mary wouldn't appreciate her interference with her good friend. But, Molly asked her opinion. "I think you should wear what you like. I think it should make you feel beautiful. Whatever does that, buy it," she wasn't quite through. "But I should like to add that this is but one day...if you find something that'll suit you at a later time, even better."

"Odessa, what are you on about? A later time? Are you suggesting another wedding?" Mary was offended.

"No! I mean...I dunno. For their anniversary. They go to dinner at a posh place. You can hardly boast that convenience, Mary. Imagine...going to dinner with John in a wedding gown..." she smiled.

"Don't be absurd. It's a ridiculous suggestion."

"Precisely my point. Molly isn't having a traditional or large affair. Why not mix pragmatism with esthetics?"

Mary rolled her eyes dramatically. "What do you think, Molly?"

Molly looked from Odessa to Mary. "I think...I like Odessa's suggestion. But! I mean, your selection is lovely, Mary!"

Mary had turned away. "Why don't we stop for some refreshment? We have all night...the boys had made it perfectly clear that they wanted us to stay out. Since, you know, Sherlock isn't having a stag party."

Molly liked that idea. The trio wandered over to an outdoor cafe & had a seat. Odessa was smilingly looking at the menu. Mary had not had the opportunity to really speak with her cousin since she had begun her relationship with Mycroft a few weeks previous. Why not take this opportunity to question her?

"Odessa?"

Her eyes looked up from the menu.

"How are things? With Mycroft? Are you happy?"

She smiled. "Yes. Yes, I am. He's really wonderful. A bit...well, unsure about some things, but in all, he's really lovely."

"What sort of things?" Mary asked.

"Well, when he's being...unfeeling, I suppose. He has yet to learn that I care little for those matters, & I'm hardly the sensitive type. He also worries he spends too much time at work."

Molly nodded. "He does spend too much time at work."

"Yes. Have you the same complaint about Sherlock? I imagine the two of them are rather similar in that regard."

"Yes...when he has a case on, he's very nearly absent. And not only is he not present physically, but he can spend hours & hours on the sofa, staring off into space, not even aware of time passing. It's rather odd. Creepy, even," Molly's eyes looked down.

"Indeed," returned Odessa. "I cannot say that Mycroft does that, but then, there is plenty of time when he is alone in his flat. Perhaps he does."

"John does nothing of the sort," Mary said smugly.

"No," Odessa & Molly replied in unison. And they all laughed.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The three men were out in the garden, drinking scotch & smoking cigars. They were having a marvelous time, & John was beginning to feel the effects of the scotch acutely. He was beginning to get a bit more daring in his speech.

"Well...last night as a bachelor, Sherlock. What do you think about that?"

"Not much, John. I've hardly lived a traditional bachelor life. And the way I see it, nothing is changing all that much. Molly will continue to reside at 221B. We will continue our work. Nothing extreme shall happen."

Mycroft looked at his brother. "I wouldn't say that, brother."

"Yeah, Sherlock. No more running about with the ladies. No more late-night sex parties. No more drunken embarrassing jumps into the Thames telling everyone you can fly. Molly won't put up with that," and John laughed heartily.

"Has marriage worsened your humor, or have you always been this way?"

"He's always been this way, Sherlock. You either didn't care or didn't notice," Mycroft was looking sternly at John.

"Oh, come on! That was funny!" The Holmes's were not amused. "Remind me never to spend leisure time with you lot."

Sherlock turned toward his brother. "And what about you, Mycroft? Will you be engaging in marital bliss anytime soon?"

Mycroft nearly choked on his drink. "Excuse me?"

"Well, you're 52..."

"I'm 47."

"Right. Time to start thinking about it."

Sherlock & John were looking steadily at Mycroft. "I have no intention of entering into anything of the sort at this juncture. Odessa & I have been...together...for less than a month. That's hardly ample time to begin thinking about such things."

"Well, since you're 55, I'd say you're well passed time," & Sherlock drank deeply.

"Sherlock, does it amuse you to be tiresome? Are you this way with Molly, or only among family? For truly, if she hasn't seen this delightful side of you, she might rethink her decision...& since she shall be a Holmes tomorrow at this time, you may want to break her in beforehand," he concluded.

Sherlock laughed. He turned to John, "Have you any advice, John, as you are the only married man among us?"

"Yeah. Run. Or never utter another word again." And they all laughed aloud.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

As Molly laid next to a sleeping Sherlock, she thought her life nearly perfect. She thought that if nothing good ever happened to her again...it would be fine, since for the past few months, everything had been perfect.


	31. Chapter 31

He watched her walk toward him. Her dress was lilac, her hair piled atop her head, but he hardly noticed. When the minister told him to kiss her, she had had to initiate it. Mrs. Molly Holmes. Sherlock & Molly Holmes. How very odd.

They sat at an outdoor restaurant, drinking wine, making merry. John toasted again & again. Mycroft gave a small speech. It went something like this:

"Well, I must admit. I never thought I'd see the day. Here we are, offering congratulations to my little brother for his marriage. His marriage. Unbelievable," he laughed. "At any rate, Molly, you are one of the loveliest, most dear people in my life. I'm so happy I can call you my sister. I hope that Sherlock & you enjoy the most happiest of lives. I wish you both the very best. I love both of you so very dearly, & today was as happy for me as a day can possibly be. I know, Sherlock, that you'll be happy. Molly, good luck my dear. You've inherited quite a project," everyone thought he had finished, but no. "I do love you brother. I know you don't hear it often, but it's true. It was your doing that we all were brought together all those months ago - here, in paradise, & I'll be forever grateful. Cheers!" And they all agreed.

As they walked back to the villa, they felt the night melt with ease. Sherlock had called a cab, for the newlyweds were spending the night in a posh, old hotel at the base of the island. The women, when they returned, retired. John & Mycroft stayed up a while longer, talking in the sitting room with the doors to the veranda wide open.

"Will you marry her, Mycroft? She is lovely."

"Honestly, John. I've no idea."

"Do you love her?"

He considered a moment. "I...think so. It's been so very long, it's difficult to comment fully on. Sometimes it feels as though I've known her my entire life. Sometimes, like I've been only waiting for her. And sometimes, I forget about her entirely."

"Sounds like love, mate."

Mycroft laughed. "And what of you & Mary?"

"Hm?"

"Are you happy? Will you have...erm...offspring?"

It was John's turn to laugh. "Yeah. Offspring. Yes! We are planning on trying when we get back. Mary wanted to start immediately, but I'm rather glad we waited a few months."

"Indeed."

"You know, Mycroft, and you can punch me if you like, but I always thought you had a thing for Molly. You two seem so close. Even, at times, more close than her & Sherlock. That's why I believed you weren't gay - though I never said anything," John finished & looked apprehensively at his interlocutor.

Mycroft looked away & out into the night. The garden seemed to glow with the heavy fragrance from the blooms. "Although I should punch you, as you say, I'll refrain. A 'thing' is hardly an apt term to describe my feelings for my sister in law. I love her, & have since our initial trip here, but you see John, love takes many forms outside of the romantic sort. I never had romantic designs on her," he paused & looked at his feet, so well-shoed. "Though I do admit, if things hadn't worked between her & Sherlock, I would've comforted her. And who knows?" He smiled sadly. "However, this is all conjecture & quite beside the point. Think I'll retire. I have a lovely fairie waiting for me, already likely in the throws of deep, unbridled sleep."

"Unbridled?"

"Yes. She sleeps often very violently. As she does everything." He winked.

"Oh god," replied John. And he held his drink up to Mycroft in cheer. John Watson fell asleep on the sofa that evening, dreaming of horses, of babies, of honeysuckle, & his wife, whom he loved without restraint.


	32. Chapter 32

The sun was rising over the sea & Mycroft & Sherlock were sipping coffee in the garden. It was warm, & their final full day in Italy. Conversation was slow to come, but it finally came to pass that the duo relaxed enough to laugh.

They observed how much their lives had changed, & how, for the most part, they were better for it.

"I am rather glad you came along, after all, Mycroft. It taught me much to have you in Italy, & ultimately, it made us closer."

"Yes, we are as close as we've ever been, I believe. And engaged in romantic relationships. How very singular."

"We are lucky, are we not? To have such women in our lives. I would never have thought it possible," Sherlock smiled at his brother.

"No. Nor I. Yet here we are. In Italy. You married, I in..."

"Love?" Sherlock had a mischievous look on his face.

"I suppose. Yes."

"And does Odessa know?"

"No. I only just discovered it now."

"Well, then. Cheers, Mycroft. Congratulations."

"Thank you, Sherlock. It's a strangely wonderful feeling. I imagine not unlike cocaine."

"And how would you know about cocaine?"

Mycroft stood. He looked at Sherlock. "I'll never tell..."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The sky in London was streaked red; the sunset was intimidatingly beautiful. The six were talking quickly, arranging times to see one another again.

The family parted ways, after hugs were exchanged, & promises made.

Molly Hooper sat in the cab back to Baker Street. She looked at her hand, which was partially obstructed by her husband's own hand, & noted how bronze it appeared next to his. She smiled.


	33. Epilogue

The party was simple, just as Odessa desired. It was, after all, a party for a one-year-old. Just Sherlock, Molly, Henry, John, Mary, Katelyn, & Lilliana were present. Henry was mucking about with the chemistry set he had brought from home, just like his dad.

"It's incredible, when one reflects on ones children, is it not, brother?"

Sherlock smiled at Mycroft. "Indeed, yes. Will you have any more children? Nora is a year now..."

"No. Not after Odessa's pregnancy. It was difficult for her. Will you?" Mycroft & Odessa had never married, not for any reason in particular. He had taken up permanent resident in her cottage, & rented his flat out in London. Mycroft had even begun to drive himself.

"We're not certain yet. Henry is rather perfect. Why bother with more?"

Mycroft laughed. Over waddled Mary. She was heavy with her third, a boy. The twin girls were four now, & finally settling down. She was grateful. Another month & he would be born.

"How did John feel about the vasectomy? He never seemed the sort to agree..." Mycroft had suggested to Odessa that he have one. He truly didn't want any more children. He was too old to be the father of a one year old as it was.

"He was more than fine with it. Truly, he was happy with the girls."

"Indeed," replied Sherlock. He looked at the twins. Precocious, clever, pretty. Curious how Katelyn looked just like Mary & Lilliana looked just like John.

Sherlock turned to Nora. He loved his niece dearly. Already walking, talking & telling jokes at 12 months, she was just like Mycroft. She looked exactly like Odessa, save her height. Nora was quite tall for her age, creeping up rapidly on the twins. The only personality trait she inherited from her mother was her laugh. Nora laughed at everything.

He observed Henry. Henry was the picture of his father. Lanky, dark-haired, blue eyes. His personality was difficult to account for. He loved to immerse himself in things, like his father, but other than that, Henry was more like Molly. A bit timid, very sweet, considerate, & kind. Mycroft loved him very much. They had the cousins together quite regularly.

"What will you name your son, Mary?"

"We haven't decided yet."

"John always fancied Hamish," Sherlock observed.

"That's hideous," Mary returned. "At any rate, Sherlock, will you & Molly try for a girl?"

"I don't know. If we do, it'll be quite soon. We are content with Henry, though, either way."

"To be sure. He's an excellent child," chimed in Mycroft.

Mary took her leave. Sherlock Holmes gazed over the company. At John & Mary, whom he loved dearly. At Odessa & Mycroft, whom he couldn't bear to think about his life without. And finally, at Molly. Molly, his wife, Molly, the love that he had sought for. The children of the group - the next generation that this love of each other had produced. What a lovely lovely family. He'd never want for company again.

*thanks to SammyKatz, Renaissancebooklover108, Rocking The Redhead, LovelyLonleyCat698, & Lunarnote28 for your comments, your enthusiasm, your perseverance, your laughter, your prompts, & for reading! Thanks to everyone that favorited, followed, commented. What a ride! I'm thrilled & sad to be done. I'll think about a new story, as my schedule has changed slightly. I'll likely not be able to update any new project with as much regularity, but it'd be fun to explore other avenues. Take good care, readers! I hope you enjoyed the ending.


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